God Only Knows
by yourmirroroferised
Summary: Despite the powerful bonds of love, time and space refuse to cooperate. In the absence of the possible, will Minerva sacrifice herself for the impossible? Will anyone pull her back from the brink before she changes the course of history? A mix of tropes from ADMM fanfiction c. 2005.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I've had to take a bit of a hiatus. But, while on break, I started to realize that the fanfiction community is almost completely different from the one I participated in when I first started as a writer. This means that a great many of you missed out on classics that no longer exist (for one reason or another). And I recently reminisced two stories that I dearly loved by Jestana and Griselda Le Fey. These stories are both wonderful in their own right, but I don't honestly remember more than the barest bones of the stories, and I think I'm mixing them up as well. And since there are no extant copies of these wonderful tales, I've decided to spin an entirely new tale sharing a few ideas from each of the stories and adding my own. Don't get me wrong, I'm not stealing these stories outright. But there are exceptional plot points in them that, when jazzed up, make for a fascinating story. All of the original characters will be entirely of my creation.

All this is to say, I'm reimagining classic Albus/Minerva tropes from back in the day (c.2005), and it's going to be a fantastic ride.

For the full duration of the summer holiday, Minerva had honed her Transfiguration curriculum. This was her third year as a professor at Hogwarts, her second year teaching a NEWT-level class. The last two months had been poured directly into her now-flawless teaching plan, save for one weekend in Ireland with Poppy Pomfrey, also a recent hire at Hogwarts. Minerva had spent the entirety of the last six weeks cloistered in the echoing Scottish manse that was her family home.

Not that she had her pick of diversions. Her parents had chose to spend the summer on the Isle of Man, again. While Minerva was always ostensibly invited, she knew her parent's invitation to be half-hearted at best. A small reproach lurked behind this "invitation". It was the same reproach that laced each refusal from her Hogwarts and university friends. One by one they declined to visit the manor, always citing previous plans with lovers, spouses, and children. Minerva cringed at the tone of their reply, and the reproachful question it left unsaid.

_Why didn't she have a family of her own?_

And so, as a rejoinder, Minerva McGonagall completely revised and polished the Transfiguration curriculum at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

All of this was not to say Minerva stood without accomplishments. She had received an Order of Merlin, Second Class for her brave fieldwork as a mere Auror trainee during the war. She had obtained a Mastery of Transfiguration. This past year alone she had produced two articles in prominent peer-reviewed Transfiguration journals. Several members of the staff had complimented her on her teaching prowess. Even Albus Dumbledore, uncharacteristically reserved in his praise of her, had expressed his interest in her latest paper. Professor McGonagall was a woman wholly satisfied with her professional life. But when it came to matters personal, there was an ungainly void aching to be addressed.

Having just passed the jovial Headmaster on the way to her classroom, Minerva was absolutely preoccupied by this emotional void. That is why, upon entering what she believed to be her classroom, she failed to notice the physical void in the middle of the floor. In fact, Minerva only snapped from her daydreaming after a chunk of debris from the remains of the wall above hurtled just before her feet. Gasping, she finally took in what should have been her sturdy desk, straight-backed wooden chairs, cheerful hearth, and inviting window. In its place, Minerva saw only two crumbling walls, behind her and to her right, the third wall and half of the floor were completely gone, crumbled into the shadow of the dungeon. The fourth wall, on her left, was in the act of crumbling.

Just seconds after the first brick exploded before her feet, a second barrage struck her left cheek and shoulder, causing her to shriek in pain and surprise. Minerva fell to her knees. Seconds later, Albus Dumbledore was at the gaping door. In the blink of an eye, he had taken in the situation and was dragging Minerva back into the hallway. Once in safety, he ran into the adjoining room, all the while having Minerva carefully watch the miscreant room.

"Most unusual," He muttered, returning, " The adjacent classroom is perfectly in order." Noticing Minerva's sickly pale face, with a small stream of blood trickling from a gash on her cheek, he rushed to her side. "Are you hurt? I'm terribly sorry for not asking earlier..." He tried to help her stand, cutting off his apology.

Minerva pulled away as he hastily grabbed her by her shoulders, one of which was bloodied as well. Swiftly, Albus withdrew his hands and helped her up from her right side, "Let's get you to Poppy." Glancing back, he saw Minerva's new lesson plans scattered across the floor of her now-whole, pristine office. Rain was pattering against the window. "It's never a good sign when one has to call an emergency staff meeting first thing before a new term."

Minerva just barely bit back a moan as her head ached with the exertion of standing up so rapidly.

The Headmaster winced, "Welcome back to Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall."

/*\/*\/*\

The Staff buzzed in the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore had called the meeting there intentionally, hoping the collected wisdom of the Staff and the Portraits of former Headmasters could reach some revelation on the problem at hand.

Listening to the frenzied murmur in the room, Minerva was able to determine that her incident was not isolated. That morning alone, three other professors, Slughorn, Kettleburn, and Parelis had all had similar experiences in various parts of the castle. Slughorn found a whole corridor of the dungeons thrown back several centuries, to a time when students were punished in the cells down there. His face still blanched as he spoke of the moans. Kettleburn had been walking near the Forbidden Forest when he encountered an entire flock of Snidgets. Having been endangered for centuries, it was impossible that so many birds would have been in this area at once. He also swore that the wood looked more wild and forbidding than usual. Parelis had walked into his Arithmancy classroom to see it full of Seventh Years, but they weren't the seventh years for this upcoming term. They appeared to be the current batch of Third Years, grown five years.

Each of these stories were painstakingly written down by the bright, young new librarian, Irma Pince. Her golden curls bounced as she nodded her head, noting each detail. The portraits had all run to various parts of the castle to gather stories from the paintings in the affected areas. The paintings collaborated the stories, and one portrait had even seen Rowena Ravenclaw practicing wandwork in one of the oldest rooms in the castle. Still under the careful supervision of Madam Pomfrey, Minerva told of the crumbling office with support from Dumbledore. By the end of their story, the office was abuzz with tension. If the school was suffering a breakdown of this scale, surely it was unsafe to allow students to walk the halls in just two weeks. And the safety of the staff was clearly at risk as well.

Speedily, a plan was formed. The focus of all academic inquiry at this point was the problem itself. If parts of the castle were displaced in time, were there any other occurrences in Hogwart's history? This search would hopefully lead them to the cause. Dumbledore became a commander, much as he had during the war, doling out orders to the gathered staff. Madam Pince and Professor Binns were to compile a history of any and all abnormalities in Hogwart's structure. Hagrid, Kettleburn and Filch were to scour the grounds for any further events. Professor Von Stocker was to search for signs of Dark magic. Professors Parelis and Burbage were sent to seek out any significance in the numbers, dates, times and places revealed. Mercutio Framingham, the flying instructor, was sent to check the outside of the castle. Meanwhile, Filius, Minerva, and the Headmaster were set to studying the protective wards of the school extensively.

/*\/*\/*\

Poppy insisted Minerva spend the night under her watchful eye.

"You could still be suffering the ill effects of your concussion!" She clucked, "Student or not, I am responsible for the health of all who live in Hogwarts. Now we can make up a bed in your room for me, or you can come back to the Hospital Wing for the night." Poppy knew full well MInerva could not abide the antiseptic smell of the crisp white beds there.

"I suppose you can come back to my rooms," Minerva sighed, half-exasperated. Professor McGonagall valued her privacy, but it was hard to refuse the warm, practical amiability of Poppy Pomfrey. Over the few years they had been colleagues, Minerva came to regard the Mediwitch with the same fondness as a cup of tea: comforting, ubiquitous, and good for nearly every situation. Besides, the loneliness of the summer at McGonagall Manor had left her somewhat desirous of company.

Poppy settled in very quickly, and, after a perfunctory check-up on MInerva's mending wounds, she summoned a house-elf to order a small dinner of what she knew to be Minerva's favorite dishes. Minerva noticed the gesture, and warmed even more to her friend's intrusion. Over dinner, Poppy began to chatter about the summer. She went on about her short jaunt across the channel to Southern France, and the breathtaking Frenchman she encountered there.

"But it was not at all serious," Poppy grinned, "Except his body, that was seriously alluring." Her smile widened, "How about you? Manage to squeeze any romance into your summer?" She winked.

Minerva grimaced, "I'm fairly certain there are no men, wizard or muggle, within 100 miles of the Manor." She sighed.

"That must have been quite the bore during your younger summers." Poppy teased, "No men for miles?"

"Oh, I had a beau at Hogwarts during sixth and part of seventh year. Evan Rookwood. He was nicer than most of his family. He ended up in Ravenclaw, which nearly got him disinherited." Minerva's mouth twitched into a smile at the thought of that first, awkward romance.

"What happened to him?" Poppy was thrilled she had gotten Minerva to talk about something so personal as her love life. As a dedicated gossip, Poppy was frustrated at Minerva's reticence to share feelings. It had almost gotten to the point where Poppy wished the use of veritaserum was not so frowned upon for recreational purposes.

"Oh, kind and gentle as he was, he was still a product of his time and ancestry. He couldn't see the point in my getting a mastery in anything. My only job, in his eyes, was to raise our children and run his household." Minerva chuckled, " Needless to say, I put an end to that."

Poppy laughed, "Oh, la! I'll bet you did!" After her laughter began to subside, she continued, "I may not remember much about you from school, but I certainly remember that as Head Girl, you were not to be trifled with."

"Indeed," MInerva grinned, finishing up her plate and pouring herself a small glass of ginger ale. The two women moved from the small table to the main part of the sitting room. Minerva curled into her favorite high-backed leather chair, much like her animagus form. Poppy nestled into the adjacent overstuffed loveseat. Poppy broke the short silence.

"Is that it?"

"What?" Minerva roused herself from her day dreams.

"Is Hogwarts puppy love the full romantic history of Minerva Cerydwyn McGonagall?" Poppy was raising the ante now. If Minerva was not relaxed or exhausted enough, or too prickly from her earlier fiasco, she would fold in and pull out all together. But if, as Poppy was betting, she had had just enough of a jarring day, and was still a bit lonely from this summer, Minerva might open up to Poppy tonight. She studied the dark-haired witch's every movement.

"No." Suddenly, the table leaned in Poppy's favor, and Minerva continued. "I had short flings at Cambridge, two wizards and one muggle." Poppy opened her mouth, but Minerva didn't pause, "And no, you wouldn't know either of them, so I won't bother with their names." Her look brooked no argument.

"Well, I had a few romances during my medical studies as well," Poppy offered, "I even had a rather seriously relationship with a healer while I was still in training. We caused quite a stir." Poppy grinned.

"What happened to him?" Minerva was getting well into the spirit of the evening.

"She and I split up because... well," Poppy grew serious for a moment, "She couldn't understand that I liked both men and women, and I was hurt that she wouldn't let me meet her family." Poppy's grin had a sad tinge to it now.

MInerva successfully swallowed her shock, "That must have been difficult," Even though the action was counterintuitive for her, she reached a hand out to comfortingly clasp Poppy's hand. Poppy had once or twice remarked on the attractiveness of a witch, but she had never openly expressed interest in the same sex. The older Gryffindor was touched by the candid bravery of the gesture.

"Ah, yes, well..." Poppy seemed to drift back from her sea of memories, "I suppose we all have hard lessons to learn." She turned her gaze back to her companion. "What of you, my bonnie Scottish lass? Is your isolation metaphorical as well as physical? Is there anyone who warms the hallways of a certain Lady McGonagall's Heart?" This was her highest wager yet.

"Och, Poppy, I haven't time for such things!" Minerva flicked away the question, "I don't mind telling you I'm sick to death of that question. My Hogwarts classmates, my parents are all badgering me to find a man and settle down!" She huffed, "But I want to focus on my career. One day I may want children, but I have a lot of things I want to do first! But studying and teaching Transfiguration come first in my life. " She finished firmly.

This little explosion somewhat shocked Poppy. She had not expected Minerva to be quite so forthright with her. And yet, Poppy had the distinct feeling she was still holding something back. The Mediwitch doubled down on her wager, "You know, Minerva, it is possible to have a professional life and a romantic one as well." She nudged.

"Ah, that's a fantasy, Poppy," Minerva responded with the same dismissive pitch as before, "Even if I could get him to fall in love with me, there are far too many other..." A knock at the door cut off the conversation, just as Poppy was about to collect on her winning play. She had to swallow an audible groan of frustration as Minerva stood, with a bit of a wobble, to answer the door.

"Hello, Professor Dumbledore!" Her voice became crisp and professional instantly. Poppy cursed Dumbledore for shattering all her hard work.

"Good evening, Professor McGonagall. I see Madam Pomfrey is keeping you company this evening." The auburn-haired wizard nodded to the sullen Mediwitch. She nodded back tersely.

"Good evening, Headmaster," She wished with all her will that he would leave.

"I am sorry for the late visit," He continued with a haste Poppy appreciated, "I merely wished to ask your assistance in checking the wards tomorrow after breakfast, Professor McGonagall," He smiled at Minerva. Her complexion had taken on a strange tint. At first, Poppy was medically concerned. Then, she realized Minerva was blushing! Suddenly, Albus Dumbledore's interruption became very fortuitous indeed.

"Of course, Headmaster," Minerva's brogue had thickened in her exhaustion, "I'll come to your office straight away," To the untrained eye, MInerva seemed only a bit tired. But Poppy knew something more was behind the stumble in her friend's words.

"After breakfast should be sufficient, Professor." Albus smiled, and the splotchy hue on Minerva's cheeks deepened to rose, "I will leave you in Poppy's capable hands. I bid you speedy recovery and good night!" It was a mercy he shut the door behind himself. Poppy was not sure Minerva could have gracefully executed the task. She stared at the closed door for a moment and then jumped to action.

"Well, I'm quite exhausted!" Minerva snag out on the way to her bedroom. "Do you mind if I have the bathroom first?" The bathroom door snapped shut without a reply. Instantly, like a bloodhound on the scent, Poppy was at the door.

"Of course, Minerva," She grinned, "But I will have to do one more round of tests before bed." She sat on her newly transfigured bed in Minerva's room. The trap was set, she simply had to bide her time.

Once Minerva was seated on bed, clad in her dressing gown, Poppy ran through the usual battery of test-spells.

"Your heart rate is a bit elevated," Poppy dead panned, "Are you feeling well?" Minerva nodded the affirmative as she reached for a glass of water by her bed. "Alright, that leaves only the memory test. What was the last thing you said to me before Professor Dumbledore knocked?"

Minerva blanched and choked on the water she was sipping from the glass, "I...I..."

"Take your time. Short term memory loss is common in concussion patients," Poppy snapped the trap closed, "I'll tell Professor Dumbledore you're not quite fit for duty yet."

Minerva was on to her now, and shot a deathly glare her way, "I don't see how it could possibly be medically relevant..." She muttered grudgingly. "I was discussing my belief that it is nigh impossible to get a wizard to fall in love with a witch devoted to her career." She sealed her lips in a thin, hard line.

"I seem to recall you being more specific," Poppy was in too far to give up now, "You mentioned a particular wizard. Do you remember his name?" She prodded.

"I distinctly remember not mentioning a name." Minerva returned, "On that point, my memory is not fuzzy in the slightest."

Poppy stepped back and sighed. Minerva had won, for now, "You appear to be in decent shape." She moved toward the bathroom. Suddenly, on impulse, she stopped. Without turning, she asked, "Will you ever truly open up to me Minerva?"

"There are some things one simply does not give voice to before their time." Was the crisp reply.

By the time Poppy came back from the bathroom, Minerva was fast asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day flowed swiftly to the second emergency all-staff meeting.

It took less than an hour for Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall and Flitwick to check the stability of the protective wards in place over the school. The standard diagnostic that had been the failsafe of Headmasters and Deputy Heads for centuries refused to work properly. It wouldn't even return any kind of result, positive or otherwise. They went over the list of the ten most unstable wards, and could detect nothing wrong with any of them individually. But they knew that at least one spell was off-kilter.

Regrouping in the Headmaster's office, each section of the staff reported on their findings. Mercutio reported no damage to the outside of the school, while Hagrid and Silvanus Kettleburn found no damage to the grounds or beasts in the area. Irma and Cuthbert found only a few instances of rooms switching places with one another when bored enough. There were no instances of rooms shifting dimensionally. There was one incident with a broken time-turner, but Magical Law Enforcement had thoroughly reversed the damage. Besides, the incident had been nowhere near any of the shifting areas. When they reported the small hiccup in ward diagnostics test, a buzz zipped about the room. Even the portraits seemed at least mildly concerned with this news, and it took quite a lot to raise half of them out of their slumber.

After Albus returned the proceedings back to order, the sound of one of the portraits clearing their throats made everyone look up suddenly.

"If I may..." Armando Dippet wheezed.

Albus gestured for Dippet to proceed, "Of course."

"Most of you will remember the bombing of October 1940," He began. This caused a shiver to pass over the room. Only a few of those present had been on staff at the time of the bombing. Many more had been students during the terrifying episode. All could still remember shivering in the dungeons as they felt the very earth shaking under their feet.

When Dumbledore spoke, it was with a slightly strangled voice. He carried a special guilt about the incident. He held himself personally responsible. It was through his own carelessness that Grindelwald knew the location of Hogwarts in the first place, "I'm sure we all remember that horrific day, Armando."

"Well, I believe the bombing may have damaged one of the wards. The diagnostic results you described sound somewhat familiar," Dippet coughed for a bit and cleared his throat, "There is one ward which I never bothered to tell you about. It's a foundational, stabilizing ward. It's a unique spell that the Founders divined specifically for the purpose of making sure the dozens of other wards don't clash with each other. I never taught it to you, because it's only renewed every hundred years, with the last time being in the 1920's. I assumed that you would never have to deal with the ward yourself. I was never taught about it either." He pulled at his beard, "We were having odd little incidents, nothing on this scale, mind you, with the grounds. I ran the diagnostic test and got a very similar result to yours. If I recall correctly, the Headmaster's office sent me instructions to go to the room of requirement. The room provided me careful directions for performing the spell. It's no use trying to find a record of it. The Founders realized the important nature of this spell, and didn't want it to fall into the wrong hands. I'm afraid I've quite forgotten it myself!" At that, the aged mage's eyelids began to droop profoundly.

No one spoke. This news was both good and frustrating. Finally, Minerva pierced the tension.

"A former colleague of mine from Cambridge is currently studying the effects of Muggle weapons on spells. I could speak to her about her progress thus far!" She paused, hoping to open up discussions about a solution. "But we will still need to know about that ward..."

"Why don't we simply re-cast the ward?" Mercutio piped up. His messy mop of yellow-white curls seemed to stand askew a little bit more from this revelation.

Filius nearly leapt to stand on his chair. "NO! That would be highly reckless! Too much medicine is not always safe! We could make the problem worse, and destabilize the wards further."

"I agree," Albus stood, speaking for the first time. "Both about finding out more about the spell and proceeding with caution." He took a moment to gather his thoughts and continued, "I will go to the room of requirement, seeking specific instructions on this ward. If that fails, we will contact every headmaster with which we have means of communication, try to get the spell from them. Minerva, contact your friend, see if she's available to come out to Hogwarts tomorrow, or as soon as possible."

"Of course, Dumbledore," Minerva nodded.

With that, the meeting was concluded. Half of the staff quickly dispersed to find distractions. The other half nervously trailed after the Headmaster as he walked to the Room of Requirement.

Having polished her curriculum already, Minerva had no diversions and decided to follow the Headmaster. She joined Flitwick, Slughorn, Parelis, and Poppy who all waited with bated breath.

/*\/*\/*\

Twenty minutes later, Dumbledore emerged victorious! He rushed to his office to write down instructions for the spell. But the as soon as the ink dried, the parchment ignited and resisted all attempts to put it out.

"They were fiercely protective of this spell!" Slughorn muttered under his breath.

"We should respect their wishes. I must simply teach it verbally to anyone who needs to work with the spell." He turned to the gathered crowd of staff and professors. "I must request that the rest of you leave the office. Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall, I will need you to stay."

Somewhat mystified by the magical protection around this spell, the bulk of the group shuffled slowly out of the room. As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, the murmur of their concerned voices was silenced.

Minerva and Filius stared expectantly at the Headmaster. He stepped around the table and proceeded to demonstrate the spell

/*\/*\/*\

At the end of an hour, Flitwick was zipping off to study the individual elements of the unique, highly complex charm. Albums had given him the task of developing diagnostics for that specific ward to make repair of the spell easier.

Minerva was dispatched to visit her friend at Cambridge.

Ethel Fletchley had a look about her that led one to believe that her features had spent more time communing with parchments and books than it had with her fellow human beings. When pouring over a page, her soft face was alight with curiosity and vivacity, her full red lips curved into a muted grin. But in conversation, her hazel eyes held a bemused look, echoed by her blank expression. Her interest was forever wedded to her work.

When Minerva floo'd her lab, Ethel almost seemed angry at the disturbance. Seeing Minerva, she brightened considerably. The two witches were not exactly chummy. Minerva doubted such a term could ever be applied to Ethel. But Minerva offered practical, straightforward conversation that Ethel valued deeply. She and Minerva shared a reverence for research and academic thoroughness that helped each reach across the other's barriers from time to time. In this instance, Ethel knew that Minerva would not have bothered her unceremoniously, if it were not urgent.

In consideration if this urgency, Ethel agreed to put away the combustion rifles she was carefully stripping down, and hop through the floo to assist.

By the time Ethel had been brought up to speed, her eyes were shining with excitement. It took Dumbledore, Minerva, and Filius to provide satisfactory answers to all her questions. But by her last question, she seemed grave.

She took as deep breath. All present realized she was about to provide them with an answer, they held their breath reflexively, "You must understand," Her tone was cautionary, "This is on a far broader scale than anything I have attempted before. This is, actually, huge. And it's also highly important to be as precise as possible. In light of these two things, I will need quite a while to study this."

"Of course Madam Fletchley," The Headmaster nodded reassuringly, "We would absolutely prefer thoroughness to speed in this matter. I very much doubt we would be able to correct a mistake in the repair process."

"Absolutely not! That would be unthinkable. That is why I'm proposing a rather unorthodox solution. I can fast-track research on this spell, and start on this issue within the week. However, it's still going to take me at least two or three years to get everything completely set. For a comfortable margin, I'll need five." Flitwick began to rub his hands together worriedly. "Oh, don't worry. I realize you all very much need Hogwarts operational by September. Therein lies the unorthodoxy. Headmaster, am I amiss in assuming you have connections at the Department of Mysteries?" Dumbledore nodded, "Excellent. I propose we use a time turner. I will conduct my research at my desired pace. In five years exactly, I will return to Hogwarts and provide you with my results. At the very least, I will make sure that a copy is in the hands of Albus Dumbledore. Send one of your staff forward to collect the research, and come back to the present to employ the results. This method may seem extreme, but I do believe that it is our only shot at keeping Hogwarts open this year." A stunned silence fell over the Headmaster's office for a second time that day.

"I suppose you are right, Madam Fletchley." He grimaced. "Let us assume this as our first plan of action. If it fails, for one of the myriad reasons, I believe your report is accurate in that we must send out notice that Hogwarts will not be able to remain open for this school year. Perhaps, if we are forced to close the school, the three of us can lend our mental faculties to resolving the problem and finding a workable solution a bit faster than estimated."

Minerva could tell Ethel was alarmed at the idea of three strangers invading her work. "Let us hope that our first plan of action holds," Minerva responded gravely.

"I believe I will face little resistance in acquiring a time-turner for this specific purpose. This school is very important to the Ministry. I believe they will be willing to bend several laws to keep it functional."

"I volunteer to use the time-turner and meet Ethel five year from now." Minerva spoke up, "It's too dangerous for you to leave the school, Dumbledore. And if I'm unable to return for any reason, Filius has shown himself far more valuable with this particular type of spell." Minerva noticed the Headmaster grimaced again when she mentioned being unable to return. But he did not protest.

"It's settled. Tomorrow afternoon, we'll send Minerva forward exactly five years. We had better meet in the Headmaster's office, I should think. The fewer people that see or know anything about this the better." He stood and began to clear away their calculations.

"Agreed." Flitwick chimed in.

"Sounds good to me!" Ethel nodded.

"Tomorrow, then." Minerva was the last one out of the office. She glanced over her shoulder, and could have sworn that Dumbledore had a pained, frightened look on his face. But the door snapped shut behind her, and she was left to wonder.

/*\/*\/*\

The next afternoon, at precisely five minutes to three, Minerva stood with a time-turner around her neck. They had spent the better part of the hour calculating and recalculating the number of turns required to send her forward exactly five years. They had finally produced a precise sum.

Poppy had sensed something important was going on with the repairs to the wards. She somehow, instinctively knew Minerva was at risk. The mediwitch had said nothing. But when Minerva walked past the Infirmary on her way to the Headmaster's office, Poppy had pulled her in for a reassuring hug. Flitwick now offered her the same. Minerva was grateful for the physical reassurance. But she was a bit shaken when Dumbledore merely shook her hand, firmly.

But she had no time to focus on that now. Minerva and both of the men counted allowed as she flipped the tiny golden hourglass again and again. In the final five turns, she noticed something was amiss. Flitwick and Dumbledore had stopped counting. She slowly flipped the necklace one more time, glancing at her colleagues. They were looking, aghast, at the room. Minerva saw, as she released the time-turner, that the room was indeed shifting. Dumbledore's silver instruments were replaced with a scattering of potions vials, and more of the room was changing. The room was changing just as the others had! But it was too late to stop the time turner. Already, she could feel the rush of the time turner start to suck her into its pull. Trying to block out the realization that there was no way to know if she would survive, Minerva squeezed her eyes shut tightly and held her breath.


	3. Chapter 3

Filius Flitwick had know Albus Dumbledore for quite some time. But he was hard pressed to recall a time, outside of the most recent war, when he had seen Albus so thoroughly worried. It was nigh impossible to get the man to stop thrashing angrily about the Headmaster's office, as if by stomping, slamming, and barely contained magical energy, he could punish the room for the recent temporal shift.

Filius had felt an odd magical pressure in the room as Minerva was about mid-way through her preparation of the time-turner. He had held his tongue, and focused on counting the turns. But by the last few turns, he and Dumbledore were both faced with the inescapable fact that the room was changing before them. In the end, Minerva had noticed it as well. Flitwick was sure that her final terrified expression now fueled the Headmaster's anger and frustration. But he did not intervene, he did not protest. In fact, he had said nothing since his voice ceased counting the fateful turns of that damned time-turner. He simply sat, providing reassurance to Dumbledore by this mere presence. There was no use stating what they both knew.

They both knew that the room had shifted about two hundred years into the past. They both knew that time-turners were never built to work under a conflicting temporal shift. But what neither of them knew was whether anyone could survive mangled time-travel. There had been a few reports of time-turners being used under ill-advised conditions, but those trials had an alarming fatality rate.

So Filius Flitwick, Charms Professor, simply waited out the current storm in the Headmaster's office.

After twenty minutes of fuming, he threw a recording on the victrola. It was a very fiery muggle piece, some kind of symphony.

After about half an hour of Albus Dumbledore staring blankly into nothingness, the victrola hissed off into silence. Flitwick turned back to his friend, only to find the Headmaster with his head in his hands.

"Dumbledore?" He gently initiated.

"It was a terribly foolish plan, Filius," The whispered reply almost could not be heard over the hiss of the victrola. "I was a fool, and now I've risked the life of... a valuable colleague."

Flitwick chose to ignore the telling hesitation in that statement. "Dumbledore, we have to start looking at the facts and coming up with a plan. It's been an hour since she disappeared."

"Yes. The facts." Dumbledore sat up abruptly, slapping his hands down on his knees, and briefly shaking his head as if to clear it. "The chances of Professor McGonagall arriving at her destination unscathed are nearly non-existent. We should therefore assume that that part of the plan has failed."

The Charms Professor was rapidly losing patience with his morose friend. "Headmaster, be reasonable!" He jumped to his feet with a small stamp. "We are well within the acceptable window for Professor McGonagall's planned return. She might still have made it...somewhere at least. Let us wait twenty-four hours. Then we can proceed to our secondary plan. Now, if it might help, I can organize staff to search the grounds hourly. That way, we can be sure of finding her the moment she returns." He started to move toward the door, when he heard a hiccuping sob behind him. Dumbledore had collapsed into a brooding despair again.

"Filius, what I have done?" He wrung his hands, "If she doesn't come back, we shall have a public scandal! Staff members disappear at Hogwarts! We shall have to truly close the school then, possibly for good. If she doesn't come back, I'll have to hire a new Transfiguration teacher, and Deputy Head. And no one is as... as qualified, as skilled, as gifted... as... as..." He stood and turned away from Filius, but even at his height, the Professor could see Dumbledore's tears.

"Indeed," Filius responded, carefully slipping back into his seat. It would never do to leave the Headmaster alone in this state. "It would be a horrible loss to the staff." Flitwick admired Minerva McGonagall. She was one of the smartest, bravest witches he had ever met. And despite what could only be described as a calculated exterior, he found that she was exceedingly thoughtful and caring, in small ways. However, the Charms Professor knew it did absolutely no good to eulogize someone who may very well still be alive, especially when that person could very well still be alive. "We must hope that she will be returned to us intact."

"Do you really think she could be?" Dumbledore callously returned. His tone was one of disdain and anger hardened to spite.

"Yes, Headmaster, I do." Flitwick stood his ground, but the Headmaster's mannerisms did not go unnoticed. It was going to be an untenable twenty-four hours.

/*\/*\/*\

Minerva came back to consciousness on something soft, of that much she was sure. Her head, however, still felt as if it had been smacked with something very unyielding. For a few minutes, the throbbing pressure behind her eyes took all of her attention. Slowly, the Transfiguration Professor began the sisyphean task of opening her eyes.

The blinding shock of daylight shoved them instantly, firmly shut again. But now, Minerva had enough presence of mind to sense that there was at least one other person in the room with her. Having no idea where she landed, the Professor decided to hold any potentially inquiries. Besides, she wasn't altogether certain speaking aloud wouldn't cause her throbbing skull to explode. Instead, she repeated earlier efforts to open her eyes. This time, McGonagall glimpsed eyes of a shade that was permanently ingrained in her memory.

"Professor Dumbledore?" She coughed, her eyes falling closed again.

"Minerva! Thank Merlin you're awake!" He gently, almost tenderly placed a hand on top of the one she had draped across her stomach.

While his voice, his eyes definitely indicated he was, indeed, Albus Dumbledore, something about his tone and the use of Minerva's given name indicated that she was no longer with the Albus Dumbledore of her present. And despite the now-prominent silver in his hair and beard, Minerva knew that age was not the only difference between this Dumbledore and her own. Thankfully, he didn't seem too eager to press her, instead, allowing her to acclimate to the change.

"Professor, what year is it?" She had to get her bearings, in every possible sense. She was able to slowly open her eyes. She was still in the Headmaster's office, but it, too, was changed. The silver instruments all seemed to be in place, most of the furniture was there, if rearranged. But there were two Headmasters up on the wall replacing Headmasters Black and Dippet. This new Dumbledore was opening his mouth to reply, but Minerva knew she could no longer stand the pain of her headache. "First, do you have a headache potion?"

He silently slipped into his quarters and returned with a small vial. Minerva gingerly sat up and downed the contents, and while it didn't provide quite as much relief as was usually expected, she could at least focus on conversation.

"Better?" Dumbledore murmured, fervently gazing into her eyes. Minerva was so taken aback by his gaze, she had to resist the urge to pull away. She nodded, nevertheless, encouraging him to return to her question, "Good, now, it's August 14th, 1979 and it is 3:15 in the afternoon. You popped in here quite suddenly at 3, and immediately collapsed." He pulled a somewhat deformed and melted time-turner from his pocket, "I assume you got here using this?"

Minerva gasped as she took the bent device from his hands. She tried to examine it more closely, but time-turners were far from her specialty. Her mind now reeled with a whole new set of problems.

"Why did you come here, Minerva?" Albus leaned closer from his chair next to her.

"I... You... I mean, he..." She took a moment to collect her thoughts, studiously avoiding the piercing gaze of the Headmaster. "Hogwarts is in trouble." She took the next fifteen minutes explaining the issue and the nature of the plan. Dumbledore grew more and more curious with each passing moment. "And that's what sent me here today, Professor. I can only assume that the time-shift in the Headmaster's Office as I was leaving set me a bit off course." She stopped, and took a moment to breathe. The Headmaster thoughtfully offered her a glass of water, which she gratefully accepted. He leaned back in his chair, clearly thinking through something as Minerva finished drinking.

"Well, I have some very good news for you, Minerva," He smiled, somewhat sadly, "We do have the solution you seek. Our Hogwarts went through bombing during the war as well. We were able to repair the foundational ward and stop the rooms from changing. However... that brings me to the... problematic... news I must share with you, my dear." He reached both hands out to clasp hers where they lay folded on her lap. "You are not in the Hogwarts you know and love. Even from what you've told me, I can tell that this is a different timeline. I was not Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in 1959. I only because the headmaster fifteen years ago. And Armando Dippet, as you can see," Here he gestured to the portraits on his walls, "Was never Headmaster."

Minerva's face was completely awash with terror, confusion, and anxiety.

"Not to worry, my dear." He smiled, patting her hand. "We can absolutely provide you with the instructions you need. And I'm hoping that this," He nodded to the broken time-turner next to her, "Is modified in such a way that it can take you back to whatever timeline you came from."

"Professor," Minerva swallowed again, "Are you... are you saying the shifting room and the magic behind it caused me to come to a... a parallel timeline? You're not the Albus Dumbledore I've met, or who taught me Transfiguration? And this is not the same Hogwarts in which I was Head Girl?"

"My dear, of course I taught Minerva McGonagall, just... a different one. And she was still a star student and Head Girl. Your parallel counterpart was just as accomplished as you are." He chuckled, "But I am not the same man you left in the Headmaster's study a few moments ago." He paused to look her squarely in the eyes. "And you are most certainly in a different timeline."

Minerva promptly lost the contents of her stomach.


	4. Chapter 4

Minerva was finally starting to feel comfortable with her situation. After about two or three hours of shuffling parchments and disappearing to find other records, she and the Headmaster had compiled a clear set of instructions for repairing the wards. The Dumbledore from this time-line, whose discrepancies from Minerva's Dumbledore were growing more and more apparent, was beyond helpful to her.

For the sake of security and preserving their separate time-lines, Minerva was confined to the Headmaster's office. There were only a handful of staff and no students at the school, since, as in Minerva's time-line, they were still in early August. It was a relatively easy thing to keep people away from the Headmaster's study. If there was any document needed from the school library, or, on one occasion, the Ministry, Dumbledore would simply pop out to get it. The invading Professor McGonagall remained safely quarantined. Indeed, it proved a sort of medical quarantine as well, for Minerva did not seem to be faring too well in this timeline. She had a persistent headache. Albus once went so far as to reach over and lay a hand on her forehead, declaring her "decidedly feverish". In collaboration of this diagnosis, she had been rather sweaty and woozy since regaining consciousness in this time-line.

It was during one of her moments alone with the stacks of collected parchment that Minerva McGonagall began to ponder the meaning of her situation. She started to wonder what the Minerva in this time-line was up to. Why had Armando Dippet not been appointed Headmaster? Would she actually be able to use the time-turner to get home? For a moment, the Professor toyed with testing the time-turner then and there, out of sheer desperation. To distract herself from that particularly hopeless train of thought, Minerva concentrated on Dumbledore.

This Albus Dumbledore was much the same as her colleague in time-line A (she had begun to think of her own original time-line as time-line A, and her present one as time-line B for the sake of her own mental clarity.). He had aged very little in twenty years, as was to be expected from a wizard as powerful as he. His eyes still sparkled in that brilliant azure way. He seemed equally sagacious, witty, and brave. This Albus had hinted, when discussing the bombing, that he had played quite a large role in this most recent war. Minerva had little doubt that Albus B had been the downfall of Grindelwald just as Albus A had. But beyond these characteristics, there were far more subtle variances.

While Albus A treated her with all the professional courtesy and respect one could expect of one's employer, her seemed to have distanced himself from her. He never asked after her personal life, her family or indeed anything outside of bare academic issues and the occasional article either one published. He also addressed her formally by her title and surname, even when students were not present. At first, she had dismissed this marked difference between his treatment of her and his demeanor with other members of the staff as merely being the result of her recent appointment to the staff. But then Poppy Pomfrey was hired on, and Minerva was offered the position of Deputy Headmistress, and still the cool, professional distance prevailed. Eventually, Minerva gave up hope of a warm, familiar relationship with the great Albus Dumbledore and instead cultivated friendships with Poppy and a few of her fellow professors. The headmaster clearly had little interest in her friendship. But with Albus B, the Albus who had carried her to a couch, called her "Minerva" and so tenderly held her hand, there was clearly a different relationship altogether. It almost gave her hope that perhaps, one day, she and her own Albus might not share such a frosty relationship. But how to even begin such an emotional venture? There was nothing for it but to ask Albus B. He seemed open enough. As they were separate time-lines, there seemed little harm in sharing his past, as it was not destined to be her future.

And so, when Albus B returned with the final stack of parchments, and Minerva blotted the last of her notes dry, she set aside her quill and looked directly up at him. They had shared short stories about each other's worlds, comparing similarities and dissimilarities, for the last stretch of their work. But the Minerva McGonagall in this time had never been mentioned. Minerva decided to gather her courage and face the subject head on.

"What of your Minerva?" She asked. Minerva was not prepared for his reaction. Up until then, Albus B had been rather cheerful, if concerned about her health, and had shown nothing but the most genial manner in his pursuit of their task. But at this question, his face darkened, he stood and turned away from her.

His reply came so softly, Minerva strained to hear, "It's quite a long story." He murmured.

"Well, as a time-traveler, I have the luxury of ample amounts of time, at least." He did not acknowledge her witty response, "Please, Albus, I am terribly curious." She made a gamble using his first name in her plea.

It must have paid off, for with a great sigh, he turned back to her and replied, heavily, "Fine, but you must at least come lay on the settee. I don't like how pale you've become." He came over to assist her in this change in location. To her alarm, his assurance was much needed. Minerva had grown much weaker than she had anticipated during her short stay in this universe.

Once they were situated, Minerva comfortable against a few pillows and Albus in an overstuffed wingback chair, he began, "I cared dearly for my Minerva McGonagall. We fought side by side during the last battle against Grindelwald. While, professionally, we went our separate ways, after a few years we decided to see each other socially. I was delighted when, ten years after the war," Minerva noted this was exactly the time she herself had started in her position at Hogwarts, "Minerva was hired as a teacher by the current Headmaster. We were married within a year." Here he stopped. Studying his face carefully, Minerva could detect the smallest gleam of tears in his eyes. But his face was dominated by a rapturous smile.

After a moment, he continued, "There was never a bride more beautiful than my Minerva. And after three years of marital bliss here at Hogwarts, Minerva gave birth to twin boys. She was a wonderful mother. Somehow, with a lot of lost sleep, eager elves, and help from the staff, we both managed to continue teaching and raise our boys. They grew into fine young men, attending Hogwarts and becoming prefects. Aires even made Head Boy." He nodded to a picture on the mantle of a tall, dark haired youth who was eagerly waving at her from his photograph. "In the meantime. I had been appointed Headmaster, and Minerva Deputy Headmistress in the same year." Minerva nodded. All of this had happened in her time-line as well.

"But as our stars were rising, so was the darkness of another evil force. I will not name him. His perversion was deeper than anything I have encountered since, and it pains me to say his chosen name." The smile had evaporated without any remnant from the Headmaster's face. His dark, brooding voice matched his countenance. "He began by attracting Muggles, and of course, the Ministry turned a blind eye. Then he turned to the Muggle born wizards. By this time, the Ministry was powerless to stop him. His supporters were numerous and deeply embedded in all aspects of wizarding life. In my foolish hubris I assumed I could take him down easily. I formed a secret group to this end. There were many battles, some covert, some pitched combat. It was during one of these battles that Minerva was captured." Minerva sat up abruptly, to the detriment of her throbbing head.

"Did they know of your marriage?" Minerva gasped through the pain.

"Yes. It was not common knowledge, but this wizard had enough informers to have gotten wind of our relationship. And the Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts is no small trophy in any event." A single tear trickled from his eye, "When Minerva went missing after the battle, I assumed her hiding somewhere safe. However, we were shortly informed of her capture. He gleefully taunted us with it. He would send notes describing the foul ways in which he tortured my poor wife." The lone tear was joined by dozens of others. "It was too much for me. We mounted our final assault on his headquarters. The attack proved successful, but it was too late for Minerva. I found her in the dungeons of the mansion. She had been dead only a few hours. But when I saw what he had done to her..." Here, his words were cut off entirely. He choked back a sob.

Without regard for the pain or her weakness, Minerva launched herself into the arms of the Headmaster. His pain was so real, so profound, she found herself swept away by it. "Oh, Albus!" She whispered, as she wrapped her arms around him and pulled his head to her breast. And even in this moment of anguish, the Scottish witch marked how wonderful it felt to hold Albus Dumbledore like this.

/*\/*\/*\

It was nearly five in the evening on the day after Minerva's disappearance when Albus Dumbledore finally gave in to despair. This time, Filius knew it would be futile to try to pull him out of it.

They had spent hours on time-travel theory, played five chess matches, gone over curriculum issues and in the end, Minerva was still just as far from their power as before. Professor Flitwick was irritable, neither wizard had slept since Minerva's disappearance. The short tempers and the situation they were in led to a small shouting match. This had shocked Flitwick more than any of the other things he had witnessed on the past twenty-four hours. Dumbledore very rarely raised his voice, and only then to exert his authority in times of emergency. Clearly, he perceived this to be such a time.

Filius, tired of dancing around the issue had confronted Dumbledore about his feelings for Minerva. It didn't take a genius to understand the reason Albus was so pointedly stand-offish with her, and yet so panicked by her disappearance. Filius had implied, in no level-headed tone, that if Dumbledore had had the nerve to tell Minerva how he felt about her, they might not be in such a tense situation. While this assertion was completely groundless, it still invoked Albus' ire. It had caused quite a row. But eventually, if angrily, Albus had conceded that he had very intense feelings for the Transfiguration Professor, and had dealt with them thus far by ignoring them. He had felt this way for a decade, but couldn't bring himself to acknowledge that he had romantic feelings for a former student. Thus satisfied, Filius had withdrawn his absurd assertion. But that still left them waiting for a woman who refused to materialize.

Albus balked at the proposal to wait a few more hours. He had stood vigil beyond the promised 24 hours, and he would wait no longer. As the last wisps of the argument skulked away, and clearer thoughts about their situation came to the fore, Albus made his declaration.

"I am calling a staff meeting." He announced in a tone not to be questioned. After a few minutes of concentration, he sent a flock of whispering patronses whipping through the castle. Returning his wand to his desk, he ran a hand through his hair, and grimaced, realizing his toilette needed attention. "Filius, do you mind if I step into my quarters to freshen up?"

At this point the charms professor was so glazed over with defeat, he barely nodded in response. To move himself or perhaps tend to his own ablutions was entirely out of the question. He merely sat in the high-backed chair he had occupied for the majority of their vigil. He stared, mesmerized, at one of the silver objects on the nearest bookshelf. It spun incessantly, and yet, somehow was completely silent. He had no idea how long he spent gazing at the silver blur.

It was during this trance that Minerva reappeared in the middle of the room, and crumbled into a heap on the rug.

Snapped from his stupor, Filius dashed to his unconscious colleague.

"Dumbledore!" He roared as he charged across the room. The tiny man lightly tapped Professor Mcgonagall's cheek as he waited for the Headmaster to return. As he touched her cheek, he was slightly shocked to discover that it was wet. Closer inspection revealed that her eyes were red and puffy, almost as if she had been crying.

Dumbledore burst into the office. "What is it?" His question was answered by Minerva's return to consciousness.

"Albus?" Minerva whispered confusedly. Her eyes lit up for a moment. But when she saw the Charms professor, her countenance fell. Professor McGonagall's eyes regained their focus and she sat up under her own power. "Headmaster, I have the necessary instructions." This sudden change in demeanor provided no more ease of mind for Flitwick. McGonagall's voice was uncharacteristically strained, and her hands shook as she held out the parchment produced from her pocket. He turned to Dumbledore to mention the irregularity.

For the shortest instant, he caught a look of concern dash across the face of the Headmaster. But it fled to be replaced by exaltation over the proffered scroll. "Excellent work, Professor McGonagall!" His voice rang more confident and merry than Filius had heard since the beginning of this hullabaloo. Dumbledore carefully examined the instructions. "Very interesting. This is not as complex as I had imagined." He nodded over the notes. As the Headmaster walked toward his desk, he threw back, "You gave us quite the scare, leaving in the middle of a temporal shift." His tone attempted playfulness, but his voice cracked on the word "scare", reinforcing their recent emotional strain. "Are you all right?" He had come back to her side and was helping her to her feet.

Professor Flitwick wouldn't was convinced the Professor wouldn't be able to stand on her own. But as soon as he had helped her to her feet (with that same fleeting concern in his mien), he returned to the parchment on his desk. "Excellent." He repeated. "I shall use the staff meeting to present this solution." Dumbledore turned to the tottering Professor McGonagall. "I've called a staff meeting for thirty minutes from now. Can we go over your sojourn before that time?"

The look of exhaustion in Minerva's features almost doubled at this question, but she responded, "Of course." And shuffled over to the chair Dumbledore pulled out for her.

Twenty minutes later, Filius was in complete shock. He had never heard of anyone traveling between parallel worlds outside of science fiction stories. But now Professor McGonagall stood before him with this tale. It was almost more than the Professor was prepared to wrap his head around. To think that a parallel Dumbledore presided over another Hogwarts, and that they now had a bridge between the two... The scientific potential was nearly endless.

"I believe the time turner to be irreparably altered." Minerva finished.

"Of course, the Department of Mysteries will want to get their hands on it to study it thoroughly. I will take it to the department in the morning." The Headmaster replied. A look of terror briefly filled Minerva's eyes.

"No!" She cried, a bit too loudly. She seemed to realize this and continued in a much calmer manner, "I should be the one to take it. They will want to record my experience."

"Ah! Of course!" Dumbledore smiled. He had spent the last ten minutes of Minerva's recounting rearranging his office for the staff meeting. "Lastly, Professor, did you engage in any sort of dangerous fraternization or encounter hostility? Do we have any reason to believe that this parallel universe is unsafe?"

"No. The Headmaster there was very friendly toward me." Filius swore he saw moisture in the corner if Minerva's eye, "And he was the only person I encountered."

"Splendid!" Dumbledore grinned. The office door swung open with the first staff members, and Professor McGonagall was completely swept away with their eager inquiries.


	5. Chapter 5

As a professor of Hogwarts, Minerva had taken great pride in her punctuality. The woman was as precisely timed as the trains. Even as a student she had turned in each assignment on time (or, more typically, early). All of this weighed on Poppy's conscience as she watched the last few stragglers sleepily slink into the Great Hall for breakfast. Minerva McGonagall was not with them. She had not been in her usual seat when Poppy rushed into the hall, fearing her raised eyebrow for her fifteen minutes tardiness. (The students weren't the only ones who developed a fear of being late to appointments with Professor McGonagall.)

By now, though, Poppy's outlook on this situation, formerly to be used as leverage against her strict colleague, had shifted one of concern. Now, she was convinced that something was wrong. She stood from the staff table, and took a route to the Hospital Wing that would take her past McGonagall's classroom. Her class was due to start in fifteen minutes. If the professor's habits had not been too badly shaken, she would be sifting through essays.

As Poppy strode toward her goal, she pondered Minerva's past month. Upon returning from her time and universe hopping adventures, she had submitted to a thorough medical examination, on the orders of the Headmaster. Her spells had returned little aside from Minerva's slightly elevated temperature. But Professor McGonagall seemed slightly off kilter, in more ways than one. The last few days had done little to ease her suspicions. While Madam Pomfrey did not consider the Transfiguration Mistress her best friend and close confidant, they had developed a tradition of sharing a small night cap at least twice a week. But, of late, the stern witch had dodged her invitations and offered none of her own. The Mediwitch, knowing Minerva to be a private person, hadn't taken offense at get refusal at first. But now she was truly worried about Minerva's strange behavior. When pressed for a reason for her refusal, Minerva sited a last-minute curricula revision, which Poppy saw as an outright lie. To make matters worse, Professor McGonagall continued to appear unnaturally pale, at a level far lighter than her usual shade.

Compiling all these facts, Poppy almost ran to the Transfiguration classroom. Arriving at the door slightly winded, Madam Pomfrey was nearly shocked to see the Transfiguration Professor marking parchments according to her custom. Noticing her breathless colleague, Minerva looked up and smiled, thinly at Poppy, as straightforward as if she had attended breakfast that morning and that nothing was amiss. For a few gasping moments, the Mediwitch considered allaying her concerns with this subtle presentation of standoffish-ness. But she decided to seize the moment before students arrived to closely question Minerva on her strange behavior.

The way Minerva's shoulders tensed when Poppy crossed the classroom threshold spoke louder than any words.

Poppy was a shorter witch, so when she finally stood next to the still seated professor, she only had a lean across the desk to be at Minerva's eye level.

"What's wrong?" She extended her hand gently across the desk. Minerva's hand was shaking. Poppy looked up, and the expression on Minerva's face was so bone-tired, Poppy's suspicions were instantly confirmed. Something was most definitely out of joint with the Transfiguration Professor.

"Poppy, please, leave me alone..." It was so plaintive, the plea was almost a sob. "I am fine. I am happier than I have ever been. I feel perfectly functional. Please, cease your interrogation!"

Her temper escalation blew Poppy away.

"Minerva! What on earth?!" The Mediwitch in her was fighting to start casting diagnostic spells.

"I'm sorry, I... I haven't been sleeping well lately. I've had... A lot on my mind." Minerva's eyes drifted away from Madam Pomfrey's, back to her parchment.

Poppy saw this admission as a small way in to her friend's barriers, "Is it about Albus?" She took a bold leap into the opening. Minerva's shocked expression told her she had hit the mark. "I still remember our conversation from last month. It's alright, Minerva. He's not your teacher anymore." She stretched her comforting hand out to cover one of Minerva's.

McGonagall pulled away, "No, he is my employer, and I would never fraternize with him." Pomfrey knew her sleuthing had been shut down.

"I see," Madam Pomfrey stepped back and gave her best replica of the patented McGonagall glare. "Well, if you care to discuss your sleeping problems, or perhaps getting a sleeping potion, you know where to find me."

With that, she swept out of the room, mentally scheduling a time to find the Headmaster and express her concern.

/*\/*\/*\

Throughout her classes for the day, Minerva fought to keep her mind focused. After the last student seeking help had been aided, and after the last essay had been put aside for the night, she dashed to her quarters and shut the door.

This was becoming too difficult. The professor knew she couldn't keep her life going at its current pace. She was late. That meant she had crossed a line, and had serious decisions to make.

Rather than facing that decision, she sank to the floor and closed her eyes. Minerva let the fever dream that was the last month wash over her. She remembered every kiss, every caress, every whispered word of love, every second of intimacy, as if it was all happening at that moment. But the professor opened her eyes, and she was all alone, on the wrong side of a raging torrent of time.

Minerva pulled the damaged time turner from her pocket. How much longer the Deputy Headmistress would be able to keep it, she didn't know. But at this moment, the impending surrender didn't matter. She was late, and her mind was made up.

In truth, Minerva made up her mind on that first trip, when Albus B had taken her first into his arms, and later, into his bed. The intensity of her love for the man overwhelmed her common sense. The roaring if her desire drowned out the whisper at the back of her head. Her constant thoughts of her new lover blocked the entrance of any more pressing reminders of her imminent physical danger.

The Transfiguration Mistress was not stupid. As an animagus, she had spent enough time studying the human body to know that something was wrong. Her dizzy spells were more and more pronounced. Minerva's headache was now a constant presence. And now, this more troubling symptom had finally quieted her reckless longing.

And this one admission led to a flood of pressing doubts.

Their relationships was far from a flawless day dream. McGonagall knew that the man that she embraced each night, through the wonders of the damaged magical device, was substituting her for a dead woman. They had the same name and body, but everything else about them was entirely separate. It didn't seem to bother Albus B, but it occasionally troubled Minerva.

_Still, no matter who he tells himself I am, he loves me. _That thought only went so far before it encountered the prevailing doubt: _So what are you going to do about it? _

To be entirely honest, Minerva wasn't sure what was making her sick. She nearly always threw up immediately after time travel. And her symptoms had gotten worse over the course of her travels. But she didn't know if it was the travel itself that was making her sick, or her cummulative exposure to an alternative universe. She had yet to stay in one place long enough to try that theory out. The Professor's current routine was this: Wake up at Hogwarts A, perform daily responsibilities at Hogwarts A, retire to rooms at the end of the day, travel to Hogwarts B, spend the evening with Albus B, return to Hogwarts A, and repeat. McGonagall had danced this Ecossaise nearly every day since her return. Her nightly visits with Albus were the only thing she looked forward to every day.

But the persistence of her physical weakness was slowly starting to undermine everything else. And now, this new potential problem. It was more than a weakness, it was a massive, unforeseen complication. Minerva would have to make a decision and choose a side.

If she chose to leave permanently, would she be able to survive? Would she stay cooped up in Albus' quarters, for fear of contaminating her adopted timeline? And if she stayed, there were legal ramifications. Professor McGonagall had abused her privilege to gain access to, and abuse a dangerous magical item. But worse than all of that, Minerva would be cutting herself off from the man she loved, forever.

As the severity of her combined problems overwhelmed her, she instinctively began to toy with the time turner. At the thought of losing Albus B, _her_ Albus, she slipped the time turner around her neck and began spinning it. The familiar, almost comforting nausea overwhelmed her. She landed softly on the couch strategic placed in the other universe, just for her comfort.

Albus was there with a wastebin. Once her physical issues were settled, he pulled her into his warm, comforting embrace.

He leaned down to murmur in her ear, "You're late."


	6. Chapter 6

This was a new level of conflict for Albus. On more than one occasion romantic conflicts had inhibited his professional duties. More frequently, he had professional conflicts due to his involvement in so many circles of the wizarding world. But now the professional persona was creating a conflict for his personal life. As a man, Dumbledore wanted to hold the gaunt exhausted Transfigurations professor and tell her that whatever demons chased her, they could fight them together. As Headmaster of Hogwarts, he needed to find a professional way to inquire after his employee's health and order a physical exam if necessary. It would require every ounce of his restraint to not jump straight into the former, but he was required to attempt the latter.

He had a meeting set with Poppy in one hour to discuss the issue. He had asked Flitwick to attend, both as his long-time friend and confidant, and as his professional right hand, in Minerva's absence. When the Mediwitch first approached him yesterday, she was openly distraught. The Headmaster struggled to be the cooler head in this situation. He wanted to panic over Professor McGonagall's deathly parlor and overt physical infirmity. But as Headmaster of Hogwarts, it was his duty to form a calm, level-headed solution to their current problem.

And on top of it all, there was still the gnawing uneasiness of his position. Dumbledore wanted so badly to be a part of Minerva's life, in a far more personal and romantic way than was currently his privilege. But as her employer and former professor, his conscience was constantly pricked with remorse over thinking of a former student in the...intimate ways he had guiltily enjoyed once or twice. And if something should go wrong, if their relationship was not as perfect as his daydreams suggested it would be, then he could lose her for good, even as a friend. Above all, that could not happen. He could not live without her, so he resigned himself to an amicable, but highly professional distance.

At that moment, Flitwick walked through the door. The Headmaster had to keep himself from an audible sigh of relief. Filius Flitwick had provided sound, restraining judgement for Albus on more than one occasion. While Dumbledore was a man rarely given to impulse, the Charms Professor had retained his friendship for such a long time that the he was thoroughly familiar with the passionate man Albus had been. The apparition of that head-strong youth still hung around, and proved practically inescapable when Professor McGonagall was around. But Filius seemed to possess the rare ability to sense Albus' impetuous nature and head it off before it could do serious damage. At that very moment, Albus felt his roiling heart settle to a simmer.

The Charms Professor took the proffered seat across the desk from Dumbledore. After pleasantries were exchanged and classes discussed, Flitwick dove to the heart of the issue, "This is a dangerous situation, Albus, not just for Minerva, but for you as well." And from the way his friend peered into his eyes, Dumbledore knew that his friend had seen right through him.

"Minerva is very important to me." Albus' voice strained, and he cursed himself for not being better able to mask his feelings. "I..." He found himself fighting a knot in the back of his throat. Rather than give in to the choking emotions, he fell silent.

"So... She's Minerva now?" Flitwick gently queried. "Have you decided to..."

"I haven't decided anything." Albus growled. He was starting to regret inviting the man. Why wasn't he doing his damned job and putting Albus' frivolous wishes to rest? "I am pleased with Professor McGonagall's work as a teacher, and I am impressed with her academic work. I find her easy to work with, beyond that, I have no business getting to know her personally. If she had wanted my attentions, she would have sought them out. As it stands, I am her employer. I would never fraternize with one of my employees, especially one who was formerly my student." Dumbledore's firm demeanor proclaimed the issue closed.

"I see." Flitwick gave him the sort of look that made Albus feel the issue was not as closed as he wished.

Thankfully, Madam Pomfrey entered the room at just that moment. Her features were even more worried than the day before. She appeared to be nervously fiddling with the pocket on her Mediwitch's robes.

"Headmaster, thank you for seeing me." She nodded as she sat in the empty chair.

"Of course, Madam Pomfrey." Dumbledore was back in full Headmaster decorum. "It is such a rare occasion that we must meet to discuss the health of a staff member."

"And never a pleasant one." Professor Flitwick murmured, trying to soothe the agitated witch.

"Minerva does not seem to be herself. She has been late to meetings, avoided social engagement, looks incredibly drawn, and appears to have not slept at all for quite some time. I recommend bed rest or that she be sent to St. Mungo's until we can find the cause of this issue."

"Both of those solutions seem rather extreme. Could we not have you give her another medical exam?" The Headmaster steepled his fingers bad leaned forward.

"No, Headmaster, I have given it my best." Poppy sounded desperate, "I have used every standard diagnostic in the book. I had her stop by last week, because she had had a bout of severe nausea and...and..."

"You can tell us, Madam Pomfrey," Flitwick sensed her professional unease. "It is the Headmaster's duty to ensure the health of his staff."

"I believe she vomited up her breakfast." Madam Pomfrey's mouth was locked in a determined grimace. She would find a way to help her friend, if she had to override the entire hierarchy of the school to do so. "After that, I recast some tests. Most didn't detect anything, but one returned nothing at all."

"Is that not what you hoped for?" Flitwick was confused as Albus now.

"No, you misunderstand me. It was a spell to check her body temperature. It returned nothing, no temperature." At their still-puzzled expressions, Poppy explained. "It was as if she wasn't even standing in front of me."

"I...I see..." Clearly she had the Headmaster's attention now. "Well, Madam Pomfrey, that is alarming. I will order her to pay a visit to St. Mungo's on Saturday." Flitwick raised an eyebrow. Albus wasn't sure if it was due to the word "order" or if it was because of the delay in said order.

"I don't think she can wait two days, Headmaster," Poppy pleaded. "This is serious, I've never seen anything like this."

"I highly doubt we could even coerce Professor McGonagall into missing her own classes." The Headmaster considered, "But I believe her classes finish early tomorrow. Perhaps an afternoon exam can be arranged?"

The relief that washed over Poppy's face brought peace to Albus as well. Everything was going to be all right. Poppy was going to take this out of his hands.

As Filius closed the door behind him, he shot Albus a final glance to remind him that not all the issues that were brought to the meeting had been resolved.

/*\/*\/*\

_This is the night_, Minerva told herself as she palmed the time turner. By now, she had memorized every centimeter of the damaged instrument. The melted, unexpectedly jagged bends had come to feel like a metaphor for the life this little twist of fate had forced her to lead. But she was about to straighten things out once and for all. Tonight, she would not travel back.

She had planned everything out carefully. A note of resignation with a full explanation, as well as careful instructions for whoever would take over her classes now rested on her office desk. In her personal quarters, she left a letter to her parents, apologizing and explaining her situation.

After a deep breath, the time turner was around her neck. This time, she didn't retain consciousness on the other side. When she awoke to Albus' frantic voice, she knew this was not the start she needed to her night.

She was once again consumed by the passion that filled her dreams. His arms, his lips, his words firmed her nerves and resolve. Later, as they lay, tenderly, tiredly caressing, Minerva trusted her voice.

"Albus, I can't go back. I have to stay this time." Her tone wasn't the usual, passionate whisper in which they promised each other these things. It was announced in the way that Minerva might say an essay was due. Albus marked this, and, unsure what to make of it, responded in their typical manner.

"Darling, you can't abandon your universe." He sighed. "I know it's difficult. But you can make it. Things can't possibly be so bleak as to give up! That's not the Minerva I kn..."

"No!" Her voice was raised to just below shouting, "I _can't _go back. I'm pregnant." She sat up now, looking him in the face to gauge his every reaction.

And it was quite the view. His face rushed from surprise to excitement and finished in fear. "Are you certain?" He sat up as well, his voice a whisper now.

"Yes." Minerva was rapidly sinking into panic. Worries began to seep into the back of her mind. "I brewed a potion, and the results were positive. I may not be a Potions Master, but I know something that basic." Now, her gaze was probing for reassurance, begging Albus to tell her she had done the right thing.

His face began to relax, he realized her desperation, "Oh, my sweet Minerva, it will be all right. We'll have a beautiful child, we've done it before." She almost flinched away. He made references like that occasionally, equating her to her dead counterpart. Minerva chose to ignore them.

"Do you think the child was hurt by all this time travel?" She murmured, positioning herself next to him, so she could rest her head on his shoulder.

"There's one sure way to find out." Albus wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and gently leaned them both back against the headboard. His mind was still spinning with all of this information. There were so many things to be worked out in the next few days, he would have to explain Minerva's reappearance. That would be a legal conundrum in and of itself... And now they were to have a child together. This new factor gave a sense of urgency to getting Minerva settled in this world. And then there were physical concerns. Minerva was in terrible shape. He hoped, as he assumed Minerva had hoped, that the time-travel was the cause of the physical wear and tear on Minerva. Hopefully, with some close attention from Madam Pomfrey, Minerva would be back to her usual vigor soon. She was edging closer and closer to the verge of total collapse. Albus knew his lover's physical state was dire, despite her claims to the contrary.

And if it wasn't the travel itself that was causing the damage... If it was her presence in his universe... He chose not to think about that for now. Instead, he pulled her closer and cooed into her ear.

"We'll have Madam Pomfrey give you a thorough examination tomorrow. Minerva turned to kiss him, and whispered her assent. The night was surrendered to uneasy sleep.

Five hours later, Albus was pulled from his bed by the sound of Minerva moaning in the bathroom. He jumped out of bed and dashed to her side. She lay barely propped up against the wall near the toilet. The Headmaster nearly gave in to panic when he saw a small trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth. The woman he loved was holding her stomach in agony, and throwing up blood into the toilet.

"I'll get Poppy!" He back the urge to yell, to panic, he simply battled to keep an even keel. After five minutes, a very confused Mediwitch joined them in the bathroom.

"Minerva?!" Poppy balked, her eyes wide, her face pale. "Albus what in Merlin's name is going on?! What have you done?!"

"No! It's not like that!" Albus had expected this assumption, "I didn't bring her back from the dead! _This _Minerva is not _our _Minerva. This is a Minerva from a parallel dimension, by a time-travel accident she ended up here. I need you to perform an exam on her. What's happening to her body? Can it be stopped?" He was losing patience. Minerva could_ not _die a second time. He couldn't stand it.

Poppy shook her head rapidly, as if trying to erase rational thought. Regardless, she stepped forward and began casting spells. Her face only became more pale from there. She stood and pulled Albus out of the room with her after five minutes of spells and muttered exhortations.

"You must be telling the truth, because I've never seen anything like this." Poppy looked piteously at the Headmaster, realizing the emotional agony he must be in, "Albus, we have to send her back. If it's at all possible she must be returned to her proper timeline. Her kidneys are hemorraging, and I think her liver is next to go. None of the proper spells are working. Nothing is stopping it."

Albus turned pale this time. "No." Was all he could whisper, his eyes looking with anguish.

"Albus, it's the only chance she has!" Poppy laid a hand gently on his arm, "You wouldn't keep her here if it meant her death." She turned back to the bathroom, knowing he would comply.

When Albus came back with the broken time turner, Minerva began to sob, "No! Please, Albus! Don't send me back!"

"Shhhh," Poppy soothed. When she saw what Albus was carrying, she frowned, "If it's a time tuner, it wouldn't be safe for one of us to travel with her. Someone in her world will have to help her." Poppy was choking up too.

"Albus?" Minerva croaked, her cold hand shakily reaching for his. He placed the time turner around her neck. Holding her hand with one of his, he used the other to spin the cursed device.

The last thing Minerva a saw before she lost consciousness was Albus kissing her hand.

/*\/*\/*\

That morning, at Hogwarts A, Albus was in his office, steeping in Transfiguration journals. Being an early riser, he was up with the sun. Dumbledore typically started his day with a dive into his favorite subject.

He was interrupted just as he found a particularly intriguing article. An owl was frantically pecking at the window. It was a ministry owl, Albus saw right away. He sighed in frustration, it was entirely unfair for the Minister to bother Albus as frequently as he did. Regardless, the Headmaster opened the window, and accepted the message. He fed the bird, but it refused to leave without a reply. That was when Albus noticed the seal was from the Department of Mysteries.

He had been curious as to why he had received no correspondence from them about the deformed time turner. He had expects some information by now.

He opened the letter.

_Dear Headmaster Dumbledore:_

_I am inquiring after the time turner we loaned you over a month ago. It has not been returned to our care. And while you do have exceptional privilege at the ministry, I would at least like to know that our device is safe. Please respond post haste._

_Sincerely,_

_Henrietta Abercrombie_

Instantly, Minerva's mysterious illness was solved. He drafted a hasty reply apologizing for the delay, and promising the return of the item soon. The owl thus dispatched, he dashed to Minerva's quarters.


	7. Chapter 7

The flurry of activity had finally crashed to an abrupt halt. This was the first pause Albus had experienced in nearly four hours of running, shouting, adrenaline and near-berzerk fear. As he sat next to Minerva's bed in one of the few private rooms in the Infirmary, the Headmaster nearly laughed realizing he had missed breakfast. On any other day, this would be highly problematic, given that both Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress were absent. However, on this particular day, events had transpired that made the normalcy of a scheduled meal seem laughable.

The whole day had started far earlier than was decent. The Department of Ministry's owl had set him off to Professor McGonagall's room at six in the morning. The closer he got to Minerva McGongall's room, the more the gravity of the situation began to weigh on him. There were serious consequences for mucking about with time travel. If this was truly what the Transfiguration Professor had done, there was no telling what damage had been done to her body, or if it could be repaired.

That's when the running started.

The Headmaster, in his typical bright purple robes, dashed through the hallways of his own school, with little regard for who might have seen him. At the door to Minerva's room, he tried to take a step back. Arriving at Minerva's portrait-hole door had caused him to realize exactly how ill-received a sunrise intrusion followed by a carefully veiled accusation would be. The wizard took a moment to pull himself together and knocked on the door with carefully calculated tact. He waited a few moments, but received no response. His presence had roused the portrait of Ariadne. She seemed a bit put-off at being awakened and Albus' hesitance to leave.

"Shall I pop in and see if she's awake?" The youthful, classically painted blonde pouted.

"I would very much appreciate that, my dear." The Headmaster did his best to smile in gratitude.

The witch sulkily slipped out of frame. Her sudden return brought Albus back to previous levels of alarm and compounded his earlier fears. The painting, already fair-skinned, was now ghostly pale.

"Headmaster, I believe the Deputy Headmistress is in need of assistance!" The painting choked, clearly shocked. "She...I couldn't...Oh, just hurry!" She was almost sobbing now, and the painting swung open.

Albus bolted through the door. As he expected, Minerva was not in her sitting room. But Dumbledore nearly tripped over her white nightgown-glad body as he bowled into the bedroom. Abruptly, the statuesque wizard dropped to his knees. His practiced formality prevented him from doing more than laying a hand on Minerva's shoulder. This brought no reaction from the unconscious witch, however, it did give Albus time to notice that a scarlet puddle was inching its way across the floorboards under Minerva. Albus jumped back to his feet with the zeal of a man half his age.

That was when the shouting started.

"Minerva!" He shrieked in pure, charging fear. With that, he dashed over to the fireplace, threw in a fistfull of floo powder, and bellowed for Poppy.

In the three minutes it took for the mediwitch to arrive. Dumbledore ran back to the unconscious form of the woman he loved, and frantically waved his hands above her. He thought about moving her to somewhere more comfortable, but his brief medical training during the war had taught him that could make some problems much worse. Next, Dumbledore contemplated holding her hand, but that seemed silly and too sentimental for a man who wasn't even seeing a woman socially. And in between these thoughts, he had to fight the urge to wipe away the small trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth and in the process caress her porcelain cheek. Just before Madam Pomfrey arrived in the room, he saw the gold of the time-turner's chain peeking from the white lace of her gown and her raven locks.

Gently slipping it from her neck, the Headmaster gripped the magical device. One of the sharper twists bit into his palm, and blood began to bead at the cut. Dumbledore's eyes widened in horror, as the suspicions he had harbored now burst from their confines and roared into the foreground.

That was when the adrenaline started.

"Oh, gods." Poppy whispered upon stepping into the bedroom. The mediwitch's demeanor was not one of shock, but of more fear than Albus had ever seen her let slip. For a brief moment, Albus was overwhelmed by the hopelessness of the situation. He covered his face with his hands, allowing the time turner to drop down on its chain. Poppy looked up from her spells, "What is that, Abus?" She paused and as Albus brought his hand down from his face, Poppy gasped.

"You're bleeding!"

Albus waved her away, "She was using the broken time-turner, Poppy," Albus groaned, holding the device to their eye-level, "She's been toying with the sort of time travel never considered possible. And now..." His voice hitched, "She's paying the price for it."

"Albus, we might still be able to do something, but I can't do it on my own," Dumbledore would forever remember this as the exact moment Poppy Pomfrey earned his eternal trust and respect. "We don't have time to wallow in despair though, Headmaster. This school, gods, the whole world need women like Minerva. I refuse to give up until I have done everything conceivably within my power." She knew invoking Dumbledore's title would shake him from his stupor. Her wager paid off.

"What do you need me to do?" The Headmaster's face turned to pure drive and focus.

"She has internal bleeding in at least two major organs. I've slowed it down, but we need to get her to the Infirmary. And I need to get her help from St. Mungo's. I know the perfect healer for this case. But I need your assistance, because I don't want to risk putting her through floo or apparition. I need you to get her to the Infirmary."

"Is it safe to carry her?" Dumbledore froze in the middle of extending his arms to sweep up Minerva.

"After what she's suffered, carrying her could hardly make her worse." Poppy nodded her approval. It always surprised her to see how strong the lean, gangly wizard was.

Dumbledore carefully gathered Minerva into his arms. It took all his restraint to keep from bolting to the Infirmary. As he left the apartment, he saw Poppy slip into the fireplace. As he strode down the corridor, Dumbledore began to notice that Minerva's body gave off no warmth. But the Headmaster remembered his first aid training, and conjured a blanket to wrap around the frigid body in his arms. Such a feat of magic would have been incredibly impressive for most witches or wizards, but for the Headmaster of Hogwarts, it was the only safe diversion for his surging, nervous magical energy.

As he reached the doors to Poppy's domain, he knew his exact destination. The hospital wing of Hogwarts offered crisp, clean rows of beds for students with typical illnesses or broken limbs. But for the more severe cases, there were three rooms at the end of the long hall. Albus chose the right-most one. It had windows on two sides of the room, and some part of his romantic mind insisted that Minerva would love watching the sunrise from her bed. Dumbledore gently laid her down, and then cast a warming spell on the blanket that was still wrapped around her ashen form. Then, the Headmaster conjured a chair, and sat by her bed. The Headmaster's stare was so intense an observer might think that his gaze kept the chest of the Transfiguration Professor rising and falling.

Ten minutes later, Poppy returned with an older wizard. The man was very round, with bushy eyebrows that seemed to stand straight out from his face. They were matched by tufts of white hair that broke the round baldness of his head just above both his ears. Despite the early hour, the Healer was dressed in his professional robes and had a full case of potions with him. He went straight to the bed, pausing briefly to greet the Headmaster. Poppy completed hasty introductions.

"Headmaster, this is Healer Elden Quintus." Poppy began. "He is one of the foremost experts on injuries incurred during time travel. And this, Elden, is Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts..."

"Pleased to meet you," Albus rose, making the much shorter Healer step back involuntarily. Nevertheless the man offered his hand to Dumbledore with a grim nod.

"It is an honor. I only hope I am equal to today's task." With that he turned to casting spells, "Madam Pomfrey informed me of the nature of the situation. Perhaps you could explain more clearly the mechanics of this time and dimension travel?"

Dumbledore spent the next ten minutes rehashing the situation, struggling to reign in his impatience. Finally, Healer Quintas lowered his wand, and began taking notes. The Headmaster could restrain himself no longer.

"Well? Can she be saved?" He caught himself peering at the notes, as if he could understand their meaning.

"Due to the hemmorraghing's resistance to typical magical cures, and the nature of this time travel..." He paused and looked at Pomfrey and Dumbledore, both eagerly hanging on his words, "Do you happen to know how frequently she engaged in this inter-dimensional travel?"

"She's had the time turner for five weeks." Dumbledore responded, "But we have no clue as to how often it was used during that five weeks."

"She did frequently cloister herself in her quarters as soon as her duties were done," Poppy sighed, "Nearly every night, in fact." She gave Elden a look that begged him to give her good news.

"I suspected as much." He laid his chart down on the small stand next to the bed. "I've seen this particular problem only five times before. It's very rare, because an individual needs to have unrestricted access to means of time travel for an extended period of time. It's commonly referred to as Chronos' Curse. Bodies are only designed to exist in one set of linear space-time coordinates, and when they are forced to frequently cope with more than one, the body begins to shut down. There is a treatment..." Elden turned to Albus, "It's a potion, it must be brewed both here and in the other dimension. However, there is a catch..."

"I will go to the other dimension to brew the potion myself." Albus eagerly pressed closer.

"Ah, but first we must know a ratio for the potion, because she needs to drink a blend of the two that is the near-exact ratio of the amount of time she spent in each place." The Healer finished, "You will need to go to the other world and, while the potion is brewing, discover how much time she spent in the other world." He raised one bushy eyebrow up, "Still up to it?"

"Of course!" Albus was practically begging on his knees with eagerness. "Give me the instructions and I will be on my way."

"Elden," This was the first time Poppy had spoken since the diagnosis, "You said this is a treatment. Does it not cure the disease?" She bit her lip, knowing that there was a strong chance she wouldn't want to hear the answer.

"Typically, by the time we discover someone is using the time turner enough to contract Chronos' Curse, a lot of damage has been done... It has cured the problem completely." His tone indicated that there was more to be said, but he was hesitating.

"How many of the three cases you've had, Elden?" Poppy pressed him. But the rotund wizard merely swiped his hand over his bald dome and looked away, "Elden, how many of your paitients with the curse were cured by this potion?"

"One." He whispered.

Albus groaned, sliding to his knees. Once again he was in the pit of despair. Poppy hiccuped back a sob.

"And the others?" She choked.

The Healer shook his head.


	8. Chapter 8

Dumbledore never fully appreciated Filius Flitwick until this moment. The man had arrived in the Hospital Wing as soon as his schedule permitted. The unflappable professor remained steadfast as he saw Minerva McGonagall's near corpse-colored complexion, heard the theory behind this tragedy, and was faced with the grim prognosis. Above all, when Healer Quintas discovered Minerva had recently been pregnant, and that the blood-soaked floor that morning marked the end of the pregnancy, Flitwick made sure to first console the flabbergasted and distraught Headmaster. And when Dumbledore collected himself enough to rise from his charis, Filius' stoic expression gave him the strength to march to his office.

Time was still of the essence. Without knowing how long she had been traveling, or how much time she had spent in the other dimension, it was impossible to provide an adequate treatment for Minerva. Dumbledore had the formula in hand. All that remained was a trip to the alternate universe. Filius and Poppy accompanied him to the Headmaster's office for the start of this journey. After a brief transferring of the wards, Dumbledore slipped the time turner around his neck and spun it the exact number of times they had calculated all those weeks ago. The professor and the mediwitch's grim faces quickly swirled away. His eyes closed involuntarily as everything began to swim.

When they opened, he was in his office, but it was spinning too fast for him to maintain his balance. Dumbledore stumbled back onto the settee with an ungraceful thud. The noise drew the attention of the occupant of the adjoining personal chambers.

"Minerva?" The call was almost a whimper. The throat that uttered the word sounded shredded with emotion. The voice's owner came to the door, and Albus braced himself as he looked his double in the face. Indeed, this Albus' visage seemed very care-worn. The grey hair, wrinkles, puffiness, and bloodshot, bleary stare all gave testament to the distress the man felt. For a solid minute. Dumbledore was so overwhelmed with terror at this new potential self that he couldn't speak. His counterpart seemed equally disturbed into silence.

Finding his voice, Dumbledore choked out, "Minerva could not come. She has evidently been spending too much time here, and is now paying the price." The younger man had not expected to end on an accusation.

"You think I don't know that?!" The man standing across from erupted. "I held her this morning as we reached the inescapable conclusion that she would have to leave me forever. Not once, but TWICE!" Albus sank to his knees and buried his face in his hands, sobbing.

Dumbledore tried to rise from the settee in an effort to comfort the distraught Headmaster, but he found his throbbing head unhappy at the prospect of movement. "But she is still alive in _my _universe." He continued fighting his headache. "WE can still do something to help her!"

His tone, the familiarity of that desperate pitch must have touched something in the other Albus. His hands moved from his face to his knees and he stood, swiftly moving to Dumbledore's side. HIs eyes were infinitely more sharp and focused now, "Yes, at least you can have Minerva, even if I can't." THis fevered murmur threw Dumbledore off again, and he began to question the mental stability of this mirror-universe self. But the agitated Albus continued, "How can I help her?"

Dumbledore gathered his wits and explained the entire situation. There were a few pauses where the older man lost his composure. Noting these interruptions, Dumbledore decided to omit details about Minerva's miscarriage, fearing it would derail his efforts entirely. When it came to calculating how long Minerva had spent in this universe, the visiting Headmaster was shocked, not only by how long she had been there, but what she had been doing. He said nothing, though. And twenty minutes into his visit, both Headmasters felt they had achieved a solid ratio for the potion.

The older wizard slipped out, promising that his current Potions Master was a loyal, discreet man who would not question his request.

When he was finally alone, Dumbledore was able to process everything had just been told. Minerva had been risking her life just to be near an older, alternate version of himself? She and this other Albus had a very intimate relationship...

And then, Dumbledore realized that the baby that had died that morning was Albus', and in a way, his. This knowledge was too much for him. The powerful mage let loose a great, shaking sob and started to cry with a ferocious gasps. His pain was so moving, a few of the portraits could be seen wiping their eyes. The young Headmaster was so deeply ensconced in his grief, he failed to hear his alternate's entry. Only when he felt a strong, comforting hand on his back did he pause to look up.

"My Potions Master says it will take twenty minutes to brew." Albus sat beside the wizard so desperately trying to school his emotions.

"Why didn't I do something?" He groaned, "I had such noble reasons for not pursuing my feelings for her. Now that her life hangs in the balance, I can't remember a single one!" He gripped his knees." If I had spoken up, if I had even an ounce of true Gryffindor courage, none of this would have happened. She wouldn't have nearly killed herself for my love!"

Here the more collected Albus stepped in, "I had a few qualms about a relationship with a former student as well, but Minerva had grown so much. Just by being friends with her after the war, our relationship slowly evolved into a romantic one. And by our first kiss, I found that her identity as a former pupil was far overshadowed by her presence as a powerful, brilliant witch and as a woman. I was never bothered by guilt over it again. I knew that it was narrow minded of me to unnaturally suppress my feelings for a consenting, adult witch because of something that she had been." The grey haired wizard smiled, "Two sons and twenty blissfully wedded years later, I know I was a fool to have ever considered any other course. I was always happiest and at my best when I was with Minerva, and she said she was at her happiest when she was with me."

"How did she die?" Dumbledore's tears had been sufficiently corralled.

Albus took a deep, long breath, "She was tortured by one of my enemies." He whispered.

"Gods, and you still have no regrets?" Dumbledore examined the man next to him as if he were covered in sores.

"I..." The other voice faltered, "I found a note in the cell where they kept her. Minerva said she never regretted being my wife." Albus' voice cracked. "Minerva told me I was not allowed to feel guilty on her behalf, and that she chose..." He stopped and took a shaky breath, "She chose me and would choose me again even after everything that had happened." Dumbledore conjured a handkerchief to hand to his older counterpart. Albus wiped his eyes. "But when your Minerva showed up, I knew it would kill me to let her die again. I just hope we're in time!" Without preamble, the older wizard stood and rushed off. Dumbledore assumed he was after the potion.

The older wizard's nervous energy carried into Dumbledore, who stood as well, and began to pace. The stakes had suddenly become much higher for this particular Headmaster. Seeing this particular version of himself so happy had changed something in Albus Dumbledore. He had always assumed that his responsibilities, his personal position would prevent him from achieving that level of bliss. This magnate, one of the greatest wizards of his time, believed his powers prevented him from seeking out the safer comforts of a wife and a family. But this other Albus had managed it, somehow. He had been able to keep peace in his time, and have a family. The way his eyes shone as he spoke of his children, his marriage made Dumbledore realize that this just might be a level of fulfillment he too could reach.

Now, he was not just saving Minerva McGonagall, Professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They were working to save Minerva, the love of his life, and the potential future mother of his children. The young Dumbledore's heart lept at the phrase, "love of his life" made him see an ecstasy for which he had never even dared to dream.

The older Albus returned, potion in hand. He turned the bottle over to his pacing counterpart. There was a momentary pause. Each had helped the other reach a new place of hope and peace. It seemed appropriate to hug or say a few parting words. The native Headmaster had something more pressing first.

"I have to ask," He swallowed and continued, "When Minerva was here last, she mentioned she was pregnant. Did the baby...?" The grey haired wizard didn't dare finish his thought. It was too cruel a thing to put to breath.

Dumbledore answered with a brief shake of his head. He could not look the other man in the eye.

"I... I see. I suppose I should have expected as much," The older man's voice tottered a bit at the end. He took a deep breath and continued, "Please, Albus, love her; it was the best thing I ever did with my life. The moments we spent together are the most powerful thing I have ever experienced. You still have that within your grasp, don't let it slip away." He took Dumbledore by the shoulder.

"I will do everything in my power to save her," He paused, unsure if he could continue, "And to care for her." With that, he set to spinning the time turner, the potion gripped tightly in his hand.

As soon as he opened his eyes on the other side, Filius was there. The tense lines in the Charms Professor's visage told Dumbledore there was no time to lose.


	9. Chapter 9

True to his loyal form, Filius Flitwick did not leave Dumbledore's side for the rest of the day.

The potion was rushed to the hospital wing as soon as the Headmaster returned. Slughorn had already brewed a sizable batch of the potion on their side of space-time. Healer Quintas gingerly mixed both batches of the potions in precise proportions. From there, Poppy and the Healer were able to set up a slow drip of the potion for Minerva. It was clear to Flitwick that the pacing, auburn-haired man in the corner would very much have liked to give her the entire potion at once, and have his Deputy (and so much more) restored to him instantly. But Elden assured everyone that the only effective way to administer this particular potion was a tedious, agonizingly slow infusion into the bloodstream, gradually repairing the massive damage to the body.

Even less to Albus' liking was the Healer's inability to make a solid prediction as to when (or, more accurately _if_) Minerva would wake. Filius had to fight the urge to flee when he felt the hysterical, unbridled energy of Albus Dumbledore spark the air with frustration. Even Healer Quintas, stoic though he was, flinched at Albus' reaction to his most recent prognosis.

During all of these incidents, the Charms Master detected an edge to Albus' temper that had not been there before. The smaller man knew that Poppy and Elden were on the verge of trying to throw him out, so he decided to head off the issue. Mustering all his courage, and drawing strength from his long-standing admiration and friendship, Flitwick approached the brooding Dumbledore.

"Albus," He tried to catch the wizard's down-turned eyes.

"Is it Minerva?!" He stopped, whipping his head in the direction of the bed. Poppy and Elden glanced up from their readings, but seeing no imminent threat turned back to their work, shaking their heads.

"Albus, my good man, I sense there is something on your mind." He stretched a hand out to rest on the Headmaster's arm. He hoped the gesture would convey his concern and sincerity. "Ever since you came back from dimension-hopping, well, it seems as if something has been weighing on you." The poor man was trying to dance around the issue as delicately as possible.

A thunderous glare rolled over the horizon as Flitwick watched Dumbledore's face, "I have no time to deal with that at the moment, Filius." He snapped, jerking away his arm. Then he saw the fear and sympathy in Flitwick's eyes. And at that exact point in space and time, Albus Dumbledore's heart was so raw and so vulnerable that the Charms Professor's offer suddenly became irresistible.

Filius saw tears pooling at the corner of Dumbledore's eyes. He made one last assay, "Albus, we have some time before the potion takes effect. Would you like to talk with me about what happened over there?

"Yes." came the hoarse rasp. Dumbledore swept out of the room, forcing the shorter wizard to dash behind him.

They sought refuge in the room next door. This way, they were close enough should any serious changes occur in Minerva's condition. But now, sequestered in a quiet, private space, Dumbledore let the tears stream from his eyes. Filius conjured a soft paisley handkerchief and offered it to the broken wizard. Once chairs were conjured across from each other, The Headmaster began to talk. And it seemed to Filius that his friend couldn't stop talking if he had tried. The story, the emotions, the pain, the shock were like raging torrent, dammed up for years in his nigh-impregnable heart.

Dumbledore spoke of his love for Minerva, and how desperately he wanted her to be happy. He talked of his doubts, due to her former role as his student. He briefly mentioned one or two times he had thought about dropping all ceremony and simply asking her to the opera or out for an intimate dinner. Albus confessed that these urges were never actually far from his mind. But more than anything, he spoke of the profound loneliness in his life. Then Flitwick was shocked to learn that the great Albus Dumbledore filled his every spare second, outside of sleeping, eating and his job duties at Hogwarts, with meetings and work for the Ministry, almost entirely because he was so lonely. The savant's hand splayed across his face as a he spoke of the loneliness as an actual, strangling presence that haunted his silence, his personal chambers, and his heart.

Seemingly without explanation, the story swerved. Filius was not surprised to hear that Dumbledore had encountered his alternate self on his journey. And he had been in the room when Albus shared the exact number of hours and minutes that Minerva spent in the other universe. But, despite this prior knowledge, the professor was still gobsmacked to hear precisely what had transpired during those stolen minutes and hours. Still he kept his composure as Dumbledore related the older Albus' passion and deep concern for Minerva.

None of this prepared him for the shock of hearing the other Albus' story. Even in this, Dumbledore was completely forthcoming. The Headmaster shared what he had learned of the alternate history of Minerva and Albus. Flitwick's eyes grew larger and larger as he heard not only of their marriage, but the fact that they had two children. Clearly swept away in the emotional tide, Flitwick found himself using another paisley handkerchief to dab at his eyes as Dumbledore sobbed out the fate of alternate Minerva.

And the handkerchief remained present as Albus shared how shocked he was by this other version of himself, and his ability to carve out happiness for himself.

"I had assumed I would always be alone." Albus sighed, wiping at his eyes, "I took it for granted that my life would present too many pressing dangers to ever consider a family. This man looked at those risks and deemed them too petty to give up the chance at happiness. That Albus stared Loneliness in the eyes, and won." There was a moment's silence. "I wondered how he could live with himself after Minerva's murder." The Headmaster took a few shaky breaths to try to regain control of his voice, "He said, she told him she never regretted her choice, and would do it all over again, even knowing how it would end. And he said he has tried to live in the same spirit."

Flitwick had kept quiet up to this point, his words seemed unnecessary. His friend had so much to say, he felt any interjection was merely an interruption. But now, he could not hold his thoughts.

"You speak as if this can never happen for you." He chided, "I don't agree. You can still have happiness! Minerva clearly loves you, and it's impossible to deny you feel the same for her. Why would you continue to fight that? You can have the kind of happiness he had."

"No!" Dumbledore groaned, his hand returning to his face. "I cannot claim that happiness. Thing have happened which have forever changed my relationship with Minerva before it even began."

"In what way?" Filius jabbed. He was growing impatient with Albus' martyrdom. While the man was indeed a highly respected, busy wizard, not without his enemies, Filius believed that fear was now backing Dumbledore's hesitation to test out a romantic relationship with Minerva. Fear was not something he could abide in such a typically brave man. "She may have had a relationship with an older version of you, but that is clearly at an end now. She will make it through this." How Flitwick hoped this was true! " And you can have every happiness with her, if you are willing to help her through it."

"You forget what happened this morning." Dumbledore brooded. Flitwick raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Albus, Minerva is still lying in a bed unconscious. I remember what happened," He was puzzled, and the slightest bit skeptical at his friend's dramatic behavior.

"Our child died." It was little more than a whisper. It was as if a wave had slammed over him, knocking the air from his lungs and throwing him completely off kilter.

"Oh..." He gasped, "Oh, Albus...I didn't realize..." He levitated his chair next to Dumbledore's and laid a comforting hand on his arm.

"I..." The other wizard was desperately trying to reign in his emotions. "The other Albus said that the child was his. But if we different versions of the same person... if Minerva sought him out because she loved me... then that child might as well have been mine." He took one more steadying breath, "And I'm not sure Minerva will want anything to do with me after this."

To that, Flitwick was able to provide no counter. He sat next to Dumbledore in silence. Finally a thought occurred to him.

"Albus, I stand by what I said earlier." His voice was less admonishing, more soothing. "Minerva would not have acted to recklessly unless she was desperate. From what Poppy's told me, Professor McGonagall has been battling loneliness herself lately. It seems to be that losing a lover and a child would make that fight harder. Maybe, just maybe, she would want someone at her back, fighting with her. Perhaps you could be that person. Minerva will need all the love and support she can get when she wakes up. Help her, Albus. Don't be paralyzed by what might happen. Think about what has happened, and how you can help her deal with that."

He sat back down in his chair. Suddenly, Dumbledore looked pale and drained.

"How long has it been since you've eaten?" He asked.

"I don't remember." Was the numb reply.

"Look," The no-nonsense lecturing tone was back, "Minerva won't wake up for at least another few hours. You want to be in the best possible shape when that happens. I'm going to get you some food from the house elves. I can understand if you don't want to sleep, or if you can't sleep. But you look haggard enough that you could at least use a nap." With that, he jumped out of the chair, and whisked off to the kitchens for food. Flitwick felt satisfied that he had helped the Headmaster give vent to some of his more troubling emotional conundrums. The gravity of what had taken place over the last month still made Filius' head spin. But he focused on his current plan of action instead.

By the time he returned to the room, Albus was asleep in his chair. Filius deemed it best not to wake him.

/*\/*\/*\

_There had never been a more gorgeous day, in Albus' estimation. Never had the Scottish sunshine given such an elegant glow to the rolling lawns as the danced away from the castle. This evening was the most superb evening for the Staff end-of-year picnic in recorded Hogwarts history. _

_The students had been shipped out that morning, the classrooms were neatly ordered. And while the Headmaster's work was not quite done (not that it ever would be completely done) the rest of the staff were nearly stir-crazy with their eagerness to get on with the festivities. _

_Half a dozen blankets were spread across the lawn, and a large, lavishly overflowing table stacked with an endless list of gastric delights stood to one side. The sun was past its zenith, and the slightest breeze banished the blistering heat of midday. Albus was walking down the lawn toward the zealous group of newly liberated staff. _Why am I barefoot?_ He thought as he felt the fresh, tender grass beneath his feet. But he continued to walk toward the group. _

_He blinked, and his speech had zipped by. Suddenly, a delicate, melodious song buzzed about his ears. He turned his head to look for the source of the enchanting music, and saw Minerva laughing with Poppy on a nearby blanket. Those two had become especially close during the year since Poppy had been hired. The thought made Dumbledore realize that not only was their staff sorely in need of a few more women, but that many professors were in their latter years and would be retiring soon._

_The laughter burst forth again, and Albus found he could look nowhere else but at the glowing smile of Minerva. Her emerald eyes zinged with the energy of summer and the greenery around them. Her pale blue sleeveless summer dress set off her flowing dark hair and richly red lips to perfection. The flawlessly etched lines of her frame seemed to compliment her mirth at that moment. Every inch of her body seemed alive and playful at that moment. Dumbledore felt himself being dragged that way. _

_But he blinked again, and it was another two hours later. The sun had set, and a rumbling set of clouds had rolled in unexpectedly. The gathered merrymakers were gathering their blankets to go inside. Minerva and Poppy, slightly tipsy, and still in high spirits, were folding Minerva's green tartan spread. He was about to renew his quest to strike up a conversation with Minerva, when the skies opened up. A few groans were heard from the rest of the staff, but a few laughed, good-naturedly. Poppy and Minerva appeared to be enjoying their situation the most. Like the rest of the staff, they were nearly soaked to the skin and wandless. The two women capered up the hill to the castle, snapping at each other with the wet picnic blankets they carried. _

_Again, Albus found he could not tear his eyes away from the skipping, spritely Minerva. She slipped on a moss-covered rock, and fell, hopelessly laughing into the mud that had just started to form. This was his moment! The Headmaster dashed to her side. He extended a hand out to help her up. Dumbledore tried to open his mouth, ask after her well-being, or make some cleverly funny remark, anything to hear that laugh again. But he seemed unable to open his mouth._

_Minerva locked eyes with him and smiled, "I may have had a bit too much to drink, Headmaster," She winked, coyly. Her accent was thicker than he'd ever heard it. He helped her to her feet, and she dashed off. He found his feet unable to follow._

_He stood there in the rain, watching her run off. The rest of the staff had disappeared. He was alone in the rain. And all he could do was wish he had said something or kissed her. Out of nowhere, Flitwick was beside him, pulling his shoulder. _

"_Albus, you need to come with me." _

And suddenly, Albus was not out in the summer ran from that wonderful day just four months before. He was in the hospital wing, and had fallen asleep in the chair in the room next to Minerva's.

"Albus, you need to come with me." Flitwick's face was lined with concern. Suddenly, there was nothing Albus wanted to do more than hold Minerva's hand.


	10. Chapter 10

Minerva was swimming. Or, rather, she felt as if she was swimming. Her last solid memory had been of the time turner slipping around her neck. And then everything went black, a soft spiral. Around her, a miasma of everything from her past clouded her thoughts and prevented her from focusing too much on anything that might be defined as "reality". Instead, dozens of things seemed to be going on at once. And none of these things seemed to be dominating more than one part of her body.

Her fingers were sweatily and shakily clutching at her wand as she went through her Auror admissions trials. She could feel the intent of each spell and the power of it firing through her fingers. Her knees were firmly locked around her Nimbus _Ariel_ from the final Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match for the House Cup of her seventh year. Each moment of tension and compensation was as real as the day of the match. Minerva's feet were desperately picking their way through the forest floor in remote Germany, fleeing the defenders of Grindelwald. McGonagall's piercing green eyes were struggling to stay open as she poured over notes for her final Transfiguration Mastery exam. The words on the page were there before her, so clearly she could have recited them if her mouth was not otherwise occupied. It seemed to be in the middle of a conversation with her grandmother in her native Scots. The Deputy Headmistress' ears rang with a hundred voices bellowing the Hogwarts School Song. And throughout it all, her sense of smell was distracted by a particular blend of rosemary and lavender from her mother's soap.

If she focused on any one sensation, Minerva found she could shepherd her other senses into cooperation with one particular event for a few moments. But the effort required exceptional concentration, and the exhausted witch found it much more agreeable to simply surrender all attempts at control over her own body. After all, if her body didn't seem particularly excited about settling in one place, who was she to fight it? She drifted like this, overall feeling suspended in no single place, but moving through multiple experiences at once. Because linear time seemed like an absurd notion to Minerva, given that her own body couldn't make up its mind about linear time, she had no idea how long she stayed that way. Once the panic and attempts at control were brushed aside, the witch found that how long something had been going on really didn't matter.

Eventually, Minerva began to involuntarily hone her focus on her stomach. She began to notice that each memory associated with the middle of her body was one of pain. First she was experiencing the hunger pangs of being on the front lines as an Auror trainee. Then she was wretching uncontrollably during a brief bout of the flu last February. But now, the experience pulling her body into one time was an endless procession of searing cramps. The first thing to join in was her voice. The cramps forced screams of pain from her throat. The rest of the Transfiguration professor's body was soon drenched in sweat. Her eyes were squeezed shut with the pain. It felt as if the middle of her body was being torn in half. Then, at the same moment, the pain subsided to a quiet throb, McGonagall could feel that she was in a bed, and she smelled sweat and a hint of blood. A shrill cry pierced her revelations, and Minerva's eyes flew open.

She was in a bed at St. Mungo's. Albus was there, along with two healers and a mediwitch she did not recognize. One of healers and the mediwitch were hurrying away with the crying bundle. The other healer was tending to her. Albus was near by looking incredibly worried about her.

"Albus? What's wrong?" Suddenly everything clicked. She realized what was going on, because this was _her _life! Of_ course _it was! She had been pregnant with twin girls! She had gone into labor two weeks early. No wonder the poor man was worried. "I'm fine, my love!" She reached her left hand out to clasp his hand in both of hers. The emerald-encrusted band that shone on her ring finger rubbed comfortingly on the clauses there.

Albus glanced at the healer, who smiled and nodded. Tears tumbled down Dumbledore's face, funneled by his smile to drop onto her hands. "You gave us quite a start, my darling. For a moment, we thought you had left us!"

And then Minerva was flooded with a second tsunami of memory, so powerful, her consciousness swam again, if briefly. She remembered the loneliness, a dangerous journey to end that loneliness and finally, floating in utter timelessness. Minerva opened her eyes, and found she was able to push the darkness away. The other healer and the mediwitch were approaching, each holding a pink-wrapped bundle. One was handed to Albus, and as Minerva stretched out her trembling hands to receive her own bundle, tears of her own poured uncontrollably down her face.

"Oh, Merlin!" Albus murmured through tears of his own. "They are the most wonderful little ones I've ever seen!"

Minerva could not speak, so overwhelmed was she by the utter ecstasy of the moment. But she gazed into the blue eyes of her daughter. Both girls had a dusting of bright red fuzz, also sharing their father's azure gaze. Their eyes, however were in the shape of their mother.

"You have two perfectly healthy, beautiful young daughters, Mr. and Mrs. Dumbledore." The healer beamed. "Congratulations!"

"Thank you!" Minerva whispered. The comment was not entirely directed at the healer, but at whatever power directed where she had "landed" after her time floating. Never had Minerva been flooded with such profound joy.

The day finished with a visit from Minerva's parents, both ecstatic that they _finally _had grandchildren. After their visit, brief as it was, Minerva found herself exhausted. The twins had just eaten and were dozing softly in their bassinets.

Albus leaned down to whisper, "Thank you for everything, my darling wife. Thank you for making me the happiest man in the world. I know, without you, I would not have found the joy and contentment I know tonight." He kissed her forehead.

"I love you." Was all the new mother could manage before falling into a deep sleep.

The next time Minerva opened her eyes, she was in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing.

/*\/*\/*\

Albus knew what he needed to do, but fear was a powerful deterrent.

And if he was to be entirely honest, Dumbledore would have to admit his motivations were not entirely selfless. His conversations with his older alternate had left questions that could not go unanswered. The Headmaster knew a return to the other universe was inevitable, if only to find the knowledge he required. But the thought of allowing this Dumbledore back into Minerva's life, even for a moment, stoked an uncomfortable jealousy that smoldered in the back of his heart.

Yet, the wizard was now in his study, slipping the unfortunate device around his neck once again.

The other side was just as uncomfortable as he remembered it to be. The air around him felt like a deadly smog to his lungs. The young Headmaster's stomach revolted with each movement. Again, Dumbledore contemplated how much Minerva had risked to be with another version of himself. He wasn't sure if it was the vomiting or the power of that emotion that brought tears to his eyes. But the other Albus was there in a moment, interrupting all such trains of thought, and bringing the matter back to business.

"Why are you here?! Did the potion not work?!" It was clear that this Albus had been fighting against panic in much the same way the younger man had. He barely waited until the mess had been disposed of and his counterpart seated before beginning his interrogation.

"It worked, she will be awake in a matter of minutes." Dumbledore sighed, allowing the settee to take some of the strain from his protesting muscles. "But I came back because I had one question to ask of you, and one favor to offer."

The man across from Dumbledore was completely in control again. He was serene in the knowledge that the woman he loved was safe. "I will try to answer to your satisfaction."

"Who killed your Minerva?" The auburn-haired man restrained himself from throwing too much force behind the question. He was the junior wizard, in this case. And he was sitting in this other wizard's office, even if it was, in a way, his own. It would not do to seem as if he was making demands.

"Ah... I had wondered if you would come to this question," The grey-haired wizard smiled sadly. "I would have done nothing less." Albus sighed heavily, "I realize that our timelines have already irreparably contaminated each other. And I understand that the direction of your future has been altered in a way that cannot be completely understood." He closed his eyes, and passed a large, wrinkled hand over them. "It is only with this knowledge that I feel I am able to tell you the name of this wizard."

"I understand your hesitation. I would..." Dumbledore tried to console the man.

"Would do the same... Yes, I know." Another weak smile resulted from the older Albus. "You have to also know that I blame myself partially for what this man became. I fostered him. I encouraged him to stretch his considerable magical ability. I never considered the horror he would visit upon humanity." The exhausted wizard threw a pitying glance at his younger alternate, "I suspect that, given the similarities in our nature, you have probably aided this wizard yourself, completely unwittingly. Please, do not flog yourself with guilt over your actions toward him. I have wasted far too many hours blaming myself for what I saw as acts of charity at the time, and I cannot bear the thought of another Albus Dumbledore throwing away more agony on this twisted husk of a human."

"I will do my best to follow your instructions." Dumbledore was getting impatient now. He began to feel that his older self was infuriatingly omniscient, and a bit long-winded.

"The man that killed Minerva was a wizard formerly known as Tom Marvolo Riddle, who later styled himself Lord Voldemort." The old wizard nodded as he saw Dumbledore's eyes widen in surprise. "He came to you as a vulnerable boy, and you nurtured him. But unless much has changed in your universe, he is, as we speak, seeking ways to visit terrible destruction upon Muggles and Muggle born wizards. His power is greater than that of Grindelwald, and his perversion is limitless. Never underestimate him."

"I... I had suspected. Riddle always seemed... unsettled. But he killed Minerva?" Dumbledore whispered in shock.

"He killed _my_ Minerva. He may kill her or any number of other people in your universe. Do not let him out of your sight for a moment." Albus finished. He would speak no more on the matter, that much was clear. "Now, what favor do you bring me? Has Minerva left a letter for me?" His eyes sparked a bit as he said the name of his beloved.

"No, better than that." Dumbledore grinned, if a bit painfully. "After some consultation with my closest friend and colleague, we have agreed to let you come to our universe to say a proper goodbye to Minerva. You will have half an hour in our world. I don't think either of our bodies can handle much more than that." He took off the time-turner, and handed it to Albus. "I believe you know the number of turns required to get you to my study? My colleague, Professor Flitwick, will meet you on the other side and take you to Minerva."

Minutes later, Dumbledore was alone in the study again. This time, he couldn't prevent his curiosity from driving him to poke around the pictures and memorabilia on the Headmaster's desk. There were a few trinkets from what he assumed to be family vacations. There was a family portrait of two gangly read-headed boys on either side of Albus and Minerva. But the real treasure came when he opened a draw and found a neatly tartan-wrapped photo album.

At this discovery, Dumbledore stumbled back into the overstuffed wingback chair behind the desk and flipped through the moving pictures. There were smiles everywhere, and so much joy, the Headmaster had never seen his face with such an expression of pure peace and happiness.

When the half hour was up, both Dumbledores had tear-streaked faces.


	11. Chapter 11

Minerva was awake. That was a certainty. There was a bit of work left, repairing the remainder of the internal damage Minerva had suffered. But physically, McGonagall was almost entirely out of the woods. During her consciousness, she received _both _Dumbledores as visitors (Poppy admitted to openly gawking at the older Albus), and had done very well on a series of cognitive tests that Healer Quintas administered.

With this knowledge alone, Poppy Pomfrey should have been able to sleep better that night. But Minerva's first six hours of consciousness had offered her little peace of mind about her emotional recovery. During the mediwitch's time tending to the newly-awake Minerva, the Transfiguration professor spoke to her only with an ambivalent professional demeanor. She showed no signs of emotion, even after the older Dumbledore left their brief, private farewell with tears streaming from his face. When Poppy had reentered the room immediately after his departure, Minerva simply looked exhausted, with the circles under her eyes showing darker than before.

So when the younger Dumbledore returned to both the universe and Minerva's room for his own private conversation, Poppy's curiosity got the better of her. Well aware that the Headmaster intended this conversation to be private, the mediwitch considered it to be a matter of professional concern to hear Minerva's reactions and gauge her mental and emotional health. A quick _Auditus _spell cast at the keyhole, and the witch was able to hear it all from her office. Healer Quintas was taking a much-needed nap, so she need not worry about his interference. Madam Pomfrey strained to hear each subtle change in tone in the conversation broadcasting from the tip of her wand.

"...my relief and gratitude that you are returned to the land of the living." Albus' voice was quivering in a way that showed barely restrained emotions. Before these last twenty-four hours, Poppy would have been shocked by such an overt display of emotion from the Headmaster. Now, it simply gave her hope.

"Yes!" She hissed eagerly, "That's it! Tell her how much you care for her!"

"I am sorry that I have given you all such cause for concern." Her tone had none of the Scottish sarcasm with which that phrase would normally be delivered. It was as flat as week-old butterbeer. Poppy sighed with building anxiety. Her concerns were proving justified.

"Minerva," He hesitated after utter her given name, and Poppy shook her head at the tense seconds-long pause. The poor man had not expected such a stilted response. "I...I heard about the child...I'm so sorry..."

And here, Poppy held her breath. If anything was going to bring Minerva out of this shocked state, it would be the mention of her recently ended pregnancy.

"It was not meant to be." The dull, matter-of-fact monotone drove home Madam Pomfrey's suspicions. Minerva had a long road ahead of her, in more ways than one. the witch's emotionless monologue continued, "If my body could not survive in another universe, the child of two worlds could hardly have been expected to survive. I'm sure Madam Pomfrey and Healer Quintas did all they could to save the baby, just as they did with me."

This last compliment gave a small lift to Poppy's rapidly sinking spirits. At least the poor witch still had faith in her and trusted her, even if she was too broken to share her feelings with her friend.

"That provides little solace when a life has been lost!" Albus seemed almost angry at her lack of emotion now. The mediwitch began to tense up, instinctively in awe of Dumbledore's somewhat capricious power. The wizard was always in control of his magic, but one could still feel the air sing when he was greatly displeased. If the man had truly started with the intention of expressing his feelings for her, he could not have picked a worse tactic. But his voice was softer as he continued, "I would understand if you needed a leave of absence to cope with your ordeal."

There followed another incredibly burdened pause.

"I see... Yes, the timer turner..." Minerva's tone was more lively now, as if she was listing the agenda of a staff meeting, "I assume you have it now? On a personal level," Poppy leaned in. Had Minerva's voice caught just there? "I apologize for abusing your trust. It was completely uncalled for. It would have saved us all a lot of pain if I had simply returned it." The statuesque goddess remained unshaken, "On a professional level, I..." Minerva took a deep breath, "I will submit my resignation tomorrow, Headmaster." Her tone was much softer. She must have turned her head away.

"NO!" Even from this distance, Poppy nearly fell off her chair at the yell, "I will not... You cannot...That is _not_... Professor McGonagall, I will not accept it." It was back to surnames now.

"Understood. My offer stands should you change your mind." Minerva continued, completely professional, "If the Board of Governors..."

"They need never find out about this." Dumbledore's tone was conciliatory. "You saved the school, that is all they need know."

"I appreciate that, Headmaster," Professor McGonagall murmured, cowed by his generous provision, "I am not entirely sure when my body will have physically recovered from this. I assure you, after a weekend of rest, I will be more than ready to attend to my duties, from a chair, if need be." _Gods, Minerva's sense of determination is never to be underestimated_, Poppy mused to herself, "After all, Headmaster," The Scottish witch continued, "I have been performing my duties this entire school year in less than ideal physical condition." Again, the sarcasm that would normally have spiced that remark was completely absent. The tone was the same matter-of-fact professionalism that Poppy dreaded. Nothing good would come of ignoring such an obviously gaping emotional wound.

"We'll see what Healer Quintas and Madam Pomfrey have to say about that..." Dumbledore trailed off. His voice was growing louder in a way that made Poppy think he was headed toward the door. She quickly ended her little spell, and set about making herself look busy.

But the mediwitch made a special note to speak to Healer Quintas about some sort of psychological treatment for Minerva, a course of treatment appropriate for someone who had been through such a bizarre ordeal.

/*\/*\/*\

Minerva McGonagall was nervous, when of the few times in her life when this could be accurately said of her.

She had been on bedrest for the weekend after her collapse. And Professor McGonagall was, under certain conditions, allowed to teach nearly her entire class load. She had to remain sitting for most of the class, and classes were cut shorter than usual, to allow her adequate time to recover. The students had been told only that she had experienced a brief, severe bout of fever that recently hit the denizens of Hogwarts. They were mostly sympathetic, and she even received a few hand-made cards from her students.

But now, the reckoning was at hand. Healer Quintas had insisted on visiting once a week to track her recovery. Given the apparent rarity of people actually surviving what she had had experienced, Madam Pomfrey had informed Minerva that Healer Quintas wanted to talk to her about every little detail of her recovery, from her physical state to the dreaded emotional recovery. Minerva McGonagall was not particularly one for talking at great length about emotions, hers or someone else's. The idea of spending an hour each Friday with Healer Quintas, jovial and warm as he was, discussing her feelings made her incredibly uncomfortable.

And Minerva knew that Elden was not the only wizard trying to help her sort out her recovery. The Transfiguration Professor knew she owed much to the Headmaster. Dumbledore's forgiveness and discretion were the only reasons she still had a teaching position. But every time McGonagall encountered the man, she could see in his eyes that he was wrestling with an army of emotions. So far, he had been able to restrain himself, and would merely ask after her health, not prying into her emotions. More than once though, Minerva could have sworn that she saw a tiny echo of the desire and adoration that had been so openly displayed in the older Albus' eyes. This terrified her. More than anything, it made her grateful that she was on bedrest outside of her teaching duties. It meant Professor McGonagall avoided seeing the Headmaster at meals, and was unable to assist him in his ministry work. But still, he somehow managed to be in the exact same hallways she was whenever she was between her classroom and her quarters. At least once a day, she saw his eyes and the struggle they held. And each time, the response that started to bubble up in her own heart terrified her. Her connection with the older Albus was incredibly powerful, and its end had nearly destroyed her. She had not been the same since, and... suffice it to say that she was not entirely mentally recovered, and this kept her paralyzed. So, the Transfiguration Professor would smile and nod to the Headmaster, and give him a standard, dismissive answer with each inquiry after her health. The dark cloud that haunted her lonely hours would permit her to do nothing else.

But today, as she walked down the hall to her personal quarters, where the good Healer was scheduled to arrive in a scant half-hour, she steeled herself with the thought that she was helping further medical science. Minerva told herself that if she was given a similarly unique research opportunity, she too would collect as much information as possible. Merlin forbid she, a dedicated academic, should stand in the way of scientific exploration.

And so, when Healer Quintas was escorted to her quarters by Madam Pomfrey, McGonagall offered at least her usual level of briskly, but polite hospitality.

"Healer, thank you for coming to Hogwarts for this first visit." The Transfiguration Professor opened the door and welcomed them both into her quarters. After tea had been served and everyone settled, Minerva felt her dread grow. She had hoped these appointments would be solely between her and the Healer. The witch found herself still apprehensive at showing Poppy her persistent weakness. "Will you be joining us for the check up, Madam Pomfrey?" She gave a tight smile to her friend.

"Yes, Minerva," The Professor could hear the slightly annoyed emphasis on her first name. "Healer Quintas has requested that I take notes on the case and monitor your physical health on a more regular basis." And after a brief moment, she added, "And I've been more than a bit worried about you. You're nowhere near your usual self."

The healer gave her a look that made the young mediwitch stop her lecture and conjure parchment and quill. "Professor McGonagall..."

"Please, Healer Quintas, Minerva will be much easier if we're going to do this regularly," The professor answered wearily.

"Yes, lovely. Please, call me Elden, then." He smiled warmly, clearly trying to establish a friendly rapport with Minerva. "How has your week been physically? I know Madam Pomfrey has been giving you daily check-ups. Can you tell me about your level of fatigue and magical drain?"

"Nothing exceptional," Minerva was, indeed, put at ease by this strictly objective line of questions, "I actually feel almost better than I did during my time using the time-turner. My magic has not quite been up to my usual standards, however. That is the one thing that appears to have suffered the most. I don't have trouble with most minor and moderate level Transfiguration, but the advanced work is spotty at best at the moment."

"Perfectly normal with an emotional and physical upset of this kind." The Healer assured her, nodded with his increasingly amicable smile, "Now, Minerva, when we last spoke on Saturday evening before my departure, you had described your experience while unconscious. You mentioned that you spent a considerable amount of time in a state of temporal displacement. And then you had a brief experience where you occupied your own body and consciousness, but in a completely different time than any you had ever experienced before. Do you still feel this accurately reflects how you felt?"

Inwardly, Minerva sighed. How could one even explain the timelessness she had suffered during her unconsciousness? The full experience was too overwhelming for words. But she had tried her best, "Yes," It was too late to back down from this exercise now, she had to give it her best, "It was like floating in completely nothingness, and having your every sense of orientation shut down." Poppy was taking notes furiously. Minerva began biting her lip somewhat fiercely.

Elden continued, "Have you experienced any other displacement or physical or mental aberrations since that time?"

Minerva caught her hands nervously folding and unfolding. This was the moment she had dreaded. All of her commitments and promises to herself that she would be completely honest with Healer Quintas suddenly started to waiver. Going past this point would mean that Poppy would know everything once and for all. Minerva wasn't sure she could bear her friend knowing the inner wanderings of her mind.

"I..." She glanced at Poppy, and clutched at her skirt to stop her hands fidgeting again, "Yes..." There, it was out. "Yes, I have." _McGonagall, you're committed now._She told herself.

"Please, describe these episodes in as much detail as you can remember." Quintas leaned forward. His hands were folded on his crossed legs, and his brow was furrowed in deep interest.

"It happens any time I fall asleep," The reluctant witch began, "I... I have actually started to dread falling asleep, because I never know where I'm going to land when I close my eyes." Poppy did not look up from her notes, and this gave Minerva the courage to continue, "As soon as I sleep, I am pushed straight into some other experience, some other time, but still as Minerva. One was a very vivid memory from my own past, it was the day of the last staff picnic. Poppy will remember. It rained, and I slipped in the mud." Poppy still trained her gaze on her notes. Minerva wondered if the mediwitch remembered how the story ended.

"I see." Quintas murmured, "What of the others?"

"Well, Saturday, I... I was Minerva again, but this time it was during the war." The healer nodded. "And instead of the espionage work I had actually conducted during the war, I was on the front lines with Headmaster Dumbledore. We were in a meeting, planning the invasion of Grindelwald's stronghold. And then, I retired for the evening." It was too late, Minerva could feel the flush creeping up the back of her neck and spreading to her cheekbones.

"Was that all, Minerva?" The stupidly clownish grin of the healer made Minerva's blush even more intense. It felt as if the man was mocking her, "Please, don't mistake me, my dear. We need to find the commonality between all these incidents, and see if there is a possible reason you are being visited by these experiences." Professor McGonagall tried to reign in her frustration.

"I'm sorry, Healer," She sighed, "As I've said, I haven't been getting as much sleep as I a would have liked, and my judgement is a bit clouded. I will give you as much information as I can." McGonagall took a steadying breath, "The Headmaster and I returned to our shared tent, and... we had...we... we slept together." Try as she might, Minerva could only bring herself to utter the euphemism for the intensely passionate sexual act they had performed. Rapidly picking up speed, the professor continued, allowing no comment or interruption, "On Sunday, it was the staff picnic I mentioned, where the Headmaster helped me after I tumbled into the mud. I was a bit flirtatious." Poppy paused in her note-taking, if ever so briefly.

"Monday night, it was far more complex." Minerva continued, "Albus was in a position of great power. He seemed to be about the age he was almost directly after the war. And we were married, I know that for a fact. But we had to make a public appearance at a Ministry Ball, and people called him... Yes! Albus was the Minister of Magic! And he was terribly unhappy. After the ball, in private, we had... there was a bit of a spat. He... that time, Albus hit me. And when he did, I knew it wasn't the first time he had hit me, either." She had been twisting her skirt tightly around her fingers, and she looked down to see that one of her fingers was nearly purple. She hastily released it and continued, "And Tuesday, when I fell asleep, I became a Minerva who was older. I could see that my hand were more wrinkled, and I ached quite a bit. I must have been a good deal older." She murmured, almost to herself, "And...it was very odd, Albus and I were arguing over the safety of two former students, adults who were in hiding with their infant child. I don't remember from whom they were hiding, but I know that Albus was angered and frustrated by the power of their nemesis. I remember being deeply concerned for these two people. And Albus comforted me, because I was so distraught. I think... I think we were married then as well."

Poppy was still scratching away tirelessly at her notes. Elden's face was just even more intrigued than when he had started. Minerva pressed on, partly because she was starting to get tired. But also, she knew that if she stopped to think about what she was saying, she would get sucked into the cacophony of memories, but her own and others', that had plagued her dreaming hours. And these nightly battles had sucked every emotion from her already, the formidable Minerva McGonagall would not give them ground in her waking hours as well.

"Wednesday... our son was at his first Hogwarts Welcome Feast." Minerva forged ahead, "Albus was so proud, I was afraid he would jump from his seat and that blue and silver fireworks would explode overhead when Alaric was declared a Ravenclaw. Afterwards, Albus and I celebrated in our quarters with champagne, and sexual intercourse," She was unafraid now. Minerva was too tired for subtlety or subterfuge. "Last night, Thursday, I was only a bit older than I am now, but Albus was dying. He... his... Half of his body was turned black and brittle. It was from a curse he had encountered. It was a ring... He had gone a quest to destroy some evil wizard. He had gotten cursed trying to protect me from this incredibly powerful mage. And he was dying. I held his hand as he gave his last breath." And she stopped. Minerva finally released a long, wordless breath. Complete silence reigned. Poppy was not even taking notes anymore. Finally, the Transfiguration Professor could take no more.

"Have you found your connection, Healer?" Minerva laughed, realizing that she probably sounded insane, and yet, being too tired to care. "Because I have. It seems, I can't get Albus Dumbledore out of my mind _or _my poor battered, broken heart. I crossed bridged that were never meant to be traversed, I risked my entire life to find an Albus Dumbledore that would love me. And now that I've lost him, my every sleeping hour is a nightmare of all the possibilities I will never know." A few of the books on the nearby bookshelf were shaking by now. And Elden and Poppy were shifting uncomfortably, feeling the magical energy of the room reach a crescendo. But Minerva's voice had grown more quiet, and stilted, "And you know what I said earlier about being afraid to sleep? It's true. I hate going to sleep because I know that when I wake up, I'll be a bit more lonely than I was during the night. I'll be just that much further from having something, _anything _with the man I love. When I'm asleep, I have children who are alive. The minute I open my eyes, I have nothing but a great, yawning, empty apartment." Several of the books shifted on the shelves, and one fell off. Poppy dropped her quill, and as she bent to pick it up, Minerva could have sworn she saw the mediwitch swipe a sleeve over her eyes.

"I... I see..." As he bent down to return the book to its proper place, even Healer Quintas' eyes were filled with a flood of pity. "I see what you have been through, and exactly how deeply you've been wounded." His tone was soothingly professional now. "But Poppy and I have also discussed your personality and how you work and live." He nodded at Poppy, who resumed her note-taking, "We've agreed that you should not be taken from your work, provided you are physically able to continue, on the condition that I continue meeting with you once a week for the foreseeable future." The wizard's face was impassive. Minerva knew that there would be no negotiating that clause away. "You have suffered a great deal, and I feel that there is far more damage than we had initially estimated. But I believe that we can work through these things, Minerva. It can't be cured by taking a potion, and there's no magic charm to block out these events. But I will work with you to help you cope with and eventually heal from what you've been through." He stood, though he wasn't much taller standing then he had been sitting down. Elden walked to the still-seated Minerva and laid her hand on his, "But I need you to trust me, and be willing to work with me in this."

/*\/*\/*\

During this ordeal, Albus Dumbledore was buried in neglected paperwork. He had used the excessive amount of piled-up work as an excuse to occupy himself while he gave his Transfiguration Professor time and space to heal. But the poor man found that, as he was writing out official letters to the Minister, or records for the school, every word that started with the letter "m" became "Minerva". After casting a spell to erase his fifth mistake of that nature on the same parchment, the whole thing burst into flames, much to Fawkes' dismay. Disgusted, Albus put out the fire, and moved back to the _pensive_, where he dropped in a previously bottled memory, and disappeared.

He was back behind the other Albus' desk, pouring over the pictures in the photo album, basking in the warmth and peace they brought him. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder, from someone outside the memory, and hastily brought himself back to the present.

Of course, Filius would visit him at this exact moment.

"Having trouble focusing?" The shorter wizard quirked an eyebrow at him.

"How well you know me." Albus tried to smile back, and failed miserably. "Care to join me in my quarters for a smoke?" Albus knew that if anything would calm his nerves, it would be some finely-cultivated tobacco. Dumbledore rarely smoked. And he knew by inviting Filius to indulge with him, he was creating another excuse for the Charms Professor to broach the avoided topic.

Once they were both settled with softly puffing bowls, Filius did raise the dreaded conversation, "Minerva seems to be healing incredibly well." Albus could feel the wizard studying his face.

"Yes, at least, physically, Poppy says." His face was a study in control.

"I fear you are not doing quite as well, my friend." Albus avoided looking at him. "You seem to be losing sleep, and you are not quite your normally focused, driven self."

"I am more than a bit distracted. But there is no immediate remedy," A great smoke-laden sigh escape the powerful wizard.

"Patience, it seems, is your only option." Flitwick responded, knowing he was goading the older wizard.

"How can I have patience, when I see her aching as she slips through the halls?" Albus moaned, another puff slipping through his lips, "I want nothing more than to hold her in my arms, and let her pain and suffering ease out as I kiss the tears from her cheeks."

"My goodness," Filius had not expected this direct an answer. "This wait is going to be quite the trial for you, isn't it?"

"A week in this purgatory has been a thousand years." Albus leaned back to stare at the cloud that gathered above them.


	12. Chapter 12

The weeks of the fall term seemed to ooze by, slowly, painfully. It was all Dumbledore could do to keep up with his professional duties, due to his mind's penchant for spinning off on daydreams a dozen times a day. Professor McGonagall was easing into her comprehensive teaching duties, and would be back in her full capacity as Deputy Headmistress by the end of November. This would bring a mixture of professional relief and personal anguish.

During his smoke with Filius, Dumbledore admitted to hanging around Minerva's classroom, waiting for her to emerge. He also admitted that he had seen the pain this caused the dear professor. And while the wizard was desperate to see the woman he now openly admitted to loving, Dumbledore refused to pursue her presence if doing so would be detrimental to her emotional health. Flitwick and Dumbledore had a long, uncomfortable discussion about solutions to this apparent problem. It had ended on a somewhat depressing note.

"It seems I must go back to the way things were," Dumbledore sighed, "At least when I was on a strictly professional basis with her, we were able to keep the school running smoothly. That can hardly be said of our current arrangement."

"Albus, neither of you were happy with the way things were. You forget that it drove Minerva to seek out love in an incredibly dangerous way," Filius chided half-heartedly, choosing to believe that his friend would never be so foolish as to actually follow through on his proposal. "You can't possibly be serious about this."

"I am in earnest. It is more important to me that Professor McGonagall is able to live a healthy, somewhat happy life here at Hogwarts. I want her to be able to fulfill her duties, first and foremost." His silence held an unspoken addendum. Filius saw the opportunity and proved deeper into the opening.

"That's not the only reason, is it, Albus?" Flitwick leaned back in his chair to draw on his pipe again.

Albus Dumbledore suddenly burst forth with a roar of frustration, "Merlin's bollocks, man! Can you not simply leave well-enough alone?!" He shouted at the smaller wizard, who was fidgeting in his chair with the uncomfortable energy of Albus' magic crackling in the air. "Do you want to know the other reason? Do you truly want to know how much pain I feel every day? Before this mess, I could at least hold a conversation with Minerva or be in the same room as her without causing her grief. Now, she flinches at the sight of me!" The great wizard realized his outburst had terrified his friend. Dumbledore crumpled back into the overstuffed back of his chair. "Filius, I would rather see the woman I love as a friend than be spurned from her presence as an unwelcome suitor. And anything is better than causing her pain." This last sentence was almost whispered.

"Dumbledore, she now knows how you feel. You can't go back to how things were, because she too has openly admitted her love for you, if not directly to you. You have to be patient with her. From you, she needs the one thing her former lover couldn't give her: time." The other wizard was leaning forward now, stretching out a hand to lay reassuringly on his friend's arm. "You may not have spoken of it before this ordeal, but I know you have been lonely, my friend. And I also know that you have had strong feelings for our Transfiguration Professor for at least a year now. Don't deny yourselves a chance at a mutually desired, healing relationship. Minerva may not be ready for that today, or even this month. I have spoken to Poppy, we are both deeply concerned with your mental states. She says that Minerva has desired a... romantic relationship with you for quite some time as well." He leaned back to draw on his pipe again. Albus remained silently pensive during the pause. "Fill the role of coworker, fill the role of friend, and if Minerva is ready, she will offer you more."

So, Dumbledore had stopped hanging around Professor McGonagall's classroom. He spoke to her briefly at meals, always inquiring after her teaching, her health. And during their meetings as Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress, he kept things gently professional. True to Filius's prediction, she stopped flinching in his presence.

After a few weeks of this casual, distanced relationship, as Alubs and Minerva discussed plans for the winter holiday, he was offered a small glimmer of hope.

"I understand that there might be a shortage of staff available over the holidays this year. I've heard at least six professors mention that they had travel plans." Dumbledore was pouring over staff schedules, "Slughorn will be here most of the time, but he's been making vague references to a very prestigious event he simply _must _attend... And I know Parelis is out for the entire holiday."

Professor McGonagall huffed in her typical, stern manner. And Dumbledore found himself staring at her unbidden. In her small fit of exasperation, a bit of color had come into her cheeks. Indeed, the Transfiguration Professor was now nearly fully physically recovered. She had recently endured a string of staff meetings a solid four hours long, proving her stamina was coming up to par. And now, green eyes sharply concentrating on her work, with her hair down in a rather loose plait, and the tiniest hint of a blush in her cheeks, Minerva was nearly irresistible to the Headmaster's eye. "I wish they would express these plans to me in the form of leave requests... Do you think you could say something to them?" She looked up suddenly, and Albus could have sworn that she caught him gazing at her. But instead of the reflexive flinch, he thought he saw the corner if her mouth crook upwards.

"Of course, my dear. I will post a notice in the staff room requiring all leave requests for the winter holidays be submitted by the end of next week." He now stepped into dangerous territory. "Madam Pomfrey has informed me that while she and Healer Quintas are both very pleased with your progress, that you are not to be allowed to work during the holiday." Minerva opened her mouth to protest. The Headmaster shook his head. "You know Madam Pomfrey has final say in all matters related to staff health. I will have to honor her request. I'm sure your parents will be pleased to have you at the family manse. Though, you will be missed, Minerva." The use of her first name was a gamble, for Dumbledore more of an unintentional slip-up in the moment, but a gamble nonetheless. They both realized that Albus had not used her given name since the day of her reawakening. The Headmaster held his breath for the inevitable recoil. But, instead, he was rewarded with a smile. His mind froze in the dizzying relief that small gesture brought.

"A notice would be sufficient, I think, Albus," even now, looking down at her notes again, Minerva's smile was still there. It was on the smaller side if smiles, to be sure. In fact, someone not familiar with Minerva McGonagall's expression pallette might have missed it altogether. But Albus Dumbledore noticed, because it was the holy grail of emotional healing he had so desperately sought.

/*\/*\/*\

This was Minerva's fifth meeting with Healer Quintas. Out of consideration for her, and to keep her as much at ease a possible, Elden continued to come to her quarters for their Friday appointment. Poppy would escort him in, they would pour out the tea, and Minerva would talk. Poppy now had a considerable collection if scrolls about Minerva's inter-timeline wanderings, or "travels" as they had euphemistically taken to calling them. The poor witch had grown used to her rest being the dominion of these forays into unpredictable existences. Collectively, the Healer, the Mediwitch, and the Professor had sought for solutions in Occlumency, meditation, potions, and even a very strange exercise-based remedy, all without success. Healer Quintas strongly believed that the travels were a repercussion of McGonagall's body readjusting to life without time travel. So they decided to wait out the issue. While Minerva rarely expressed emotion about her travels, there had been an enormous range of events, from Minerva visiting the graves of her five murdered children, to a grandiose wedding to Albus in the palatial Morgana Hall at the Ministry of Magic. But never before had Poppy seen Minerva so excited about a meeting with the Healer. The young witch looked as if she would burst with her wonderful tidings!

Tea was quickly dispensed, and after a brief discussion if her rapidly improving health, Minerva, uncharacteristically, took the lead in discussing her nightly ventures.

"Healer Quintas, I have wonderful news!" She was practically singing with excitement. Poppy had not seen her this enthusiastic since the start of her ordeal. The quill and parchment were poised to capture said tidings, "I didn't travel on Wednesday night! I slept without a single second of time in another universe! I didn't even dream!"

The Healer jumped from his seat and rushed over to wrap Minerva in an ecstatic embrace. "That's wonderful news, my girl!" He cried, stepping back and pacing around the room, "Now, tell me exactly what you did that day. Did you take any potions? Did you try the rope skipping exercise? Were you able to meditate?"

"No! Nothing!" Minerva insisted, with what Poppy noted as characteristic McGonagall pride, "I taught my classes, attended meals, and generally kept my consistent schedule. I had a brief mid-week check up with Poppy, and then I graded papers until I went to bed, around 10pm, my usual bedtime." She had spent the past two days pouring over any differences between that day and any other day, and nothing arose."

"Did anything appear different in Minerva's diagnostics, Poppy?" This was one of the first times Elden had stopped to consult her on anything, and Poppy was a bit thrown off. But she speedily produced the results of her tests for the healer to peruse, "These seem to be fairly typical of your previous results..." He stopped his pace and looked up. His gaze fell squarely on Minerva, "Do you mind if I run a few tests myself, Minerva?"

"By all means, Elden," Poppy could tell that Minerva was not thrilled at the prospect of more prodding, but knew that the witch wanted answers just as badly as her healers did.

After fifteen minutes of standing, laying down, spells, charts, and analysis, Healer Quintas did not look quite as elated as he had before the examination. Poppy kept this observation, and her subsequent questions to herself, knowing that the Healer would share with her any pertinent information. Instead of revealing his thoughts, the white-haired wizard simply retired back to his chair with a heavily contemplative look.

The rest of the visit proceeded as usual. Minerva divulged the contents of her travels, and Poppy took them down in minute detail. Quintas said nothing during Minerva's recitative, but let her continue uninterrupted. After Thursday's travel was recorded, Poppy began to roll up her notes, when Healer Quintas stood from his chair rather abruptly.

"Minerva, you have been exceptionally brave through all of these trials, both emotional and physical, and I must ask for your continued stoicism." Elden paused for a moment, seeming to ponder how to phrase his words. The rotund healer rocked back and forth on his feet for a moment, and then looked directly at Minerva, "I've dealt with nearly every known case of Chronos' Curse. And for those that recover, I've painstakingly followed their every step. In each case, they had a solid two or three months of gains, both emotional and physical. But it is always followed by a brief period of relapse." He took a deep breath. "Your healing process has been unbelievably fast, Professor. I had hoped that because your case was so unique, your reason for contracting the disease so unusual, perhaps your recovery would not progress in the same manner." And Elden looked away for a moment, "And I was right." The old man took up pacing again, "After hearing your report of Wednesday night, I was hopeful that your body had completely adjusted to an existence sans time travel without any other outbursts. But my tests have revealed otherwise. On a cellular level, your body is no longer functioning as it was during your time going between worlds. But, it has also not gone back to the way things were before you traveled. It's incredibly difficult to explain, and is actually on the cutting edge of our medical understanding. Your RNA are refusing to perform their proper role, and are regulating your cells in a completely different fashion than they had in either of the previous..."

Elden stopped when he saw the look of wide-eyed exhaustion and dejection on his patient's face. A grandfatherly concern and compassion washed over his features, "Oh, Minerva, I'm sorry! I won't tell you to stop worrying, as you're clearly doing that already." He waddled to her side. One of her hands was flopped dispassionately over the armrest of her wooden chair, and Quintas gently laid a hand on top of it. He looked her directly in the eyes as he continued, "I have no idea where your body is headed. You could have a relapse, you could be completely fine, or this might be an entirely different direction. But I can promise you that Madam Pomfrey and I will continue to closely monitor your health, and we will be there to provide you with the best medical care possible, day or night." He patted her hand, and smiled, "And don't despair, my dear. No matter what happens, we need that fiery determination and spunk that's gotten you through all of this. We will make it through this." He stood, and began to gather his cloak and hat. "But in the meantime, it's late, and I know you need to get to your evening meal."

By this time, Healer Quintas knew his way out of Hogwarts on his own, so Poppy elected to stay with her friend instead of giving the old wizard his usual escort. Minerva didn't move the entire time Elden was making his exit. She stayed slumped back into her stiff wooden chair, hands and gaze lazily draped towards the floor. As the door to her quarters clicked shut, the witch slowly closed her eyes.

"Minerva...Would you... May I..." Poppy was flustered and upset by this sudden change in Minerva's demeanor. While their relationship had not recovered to pre-time-turner levels, the two witches had spent a few evenings in their customary fashion, sharing a nightcap and stories from their day. Pomfrey was relieved, both on a personal and professional level, to have her old friend back. And now, when Minerva clearly needed support from a friend, Poppy was eager to be there for her. "Do you want me to stay with you?"

"No." Minerva's voice was as limp as her body. She did not open her eyes or look up.

"Darling, that was a nasty shock, I know. But you heard Elden! We can get through this. And tonight, I'll stay with you and..."

"No."

"I'm worried about you," Poppy was now pleading with Minerva to react, to open her eyes, to show some of her usual spirit and vigor. "I think I should stay one night at least..."

"No."

"And we need to talk to Dumbledore about this. He should know that..." The young mediwitch stood and stretched a hand out to touch her friend's arm.

"NO." Poppy jumped as the door to Minerva's quarters flung itself open with a bang. Minerva's eyes were opened now, and she was glaring at Poppy, despite her spent posture. The witch had not raised her voice above its low growl, but there was power to it that made the young mediwitch shiver. She moved to the door without further protest, but stopped at the threshold.

"Minerva, I care about you very much," Poppy said, nearly tearful at her friend's outburst, "And we will not give up. Things will work out in the end." She side-stepped the door as it shut firmly in her face.

/*\/*\/*\

The next morning, Cryda and Ewan McGonagall received an owl from their daughter informing them that she would spending the entirety of the two-week winter holiday at the family manse.


	13. Chapter 13

It was a new day, it was a new week. The young Professor McGonagall spent Sunday gathering her resolve to move forward a better, strong woman. She had almost gotten past the shocking news of Friday: that she might not be entirely recovered, that a relapse might be looming on the horizon, that she might again be punished for her pursuit of _her _Albus.

That was how she had come to think of the wonderfully tender, brilliant man who had loved her during those seven blissful, unbearable weeks. More than once during her recovery, she found herself listening to a recording of Muggle string quartets this other Albus had given her. The recording was damaged a bit by the travel, and had a pronounced hiss as it played, but the sound still warmed Minerva's heart. It was a recording of Beethoven's 14th string quartet, one of _his _Minerva's favorite works.

As the Transfiguration Professor caught the heavy opening strains, she weighed the meaning of that small phrase, "_his _Minerva". No matter how many times she came to see with him, regardless of how many times they shared a bed, their relationship could not measure up to the quarter of a century that Dumbledore had spent with his wife. Albus was the one person for which McGonagall had exposed her entire being. He was the father of her now-dead child. That wizard was her one greatest chance at happiness. But even that was a pathetically half-way solution. Sudden hot anger bubbled up within her. What a stupid little fool she had been to believe that such a terribly unstable situation would resolve in anything other than agony for all involved!

At that moment, a lullaby-like fourth movement hissed into the room, and Minerva finally allowed herself to face the one topic that had been too painful to confront: her baby. Professor McGonagall was not opposed to the idea of children, she had even hoped to have one or two of her own, eventually. Of course, in her rare flights of fancy, her children were always the joint of offspring of a certain Deputy Headmistress and Headmaster. So when she discovered her pregnancy, she was initially shocked, but also elated. As a sensible witch, Minerva had regularly used contraceptive spells each month, but she reasoned that perhaps those spells were not quite as effective when one's body was straddling two universes. With her shock thus laid to rest, she had considered the possibility of becoming a parent. Minerva B and Albus B had already raised two boys, so Albus could not possibly be opposed to raising another child with her. He would have been a wonderful father.

Even now, Minerva found herself imagining a tiny Dumbledore baby at Hogwarts. It was not hard for her to picture, as she had seen at least four different versions of potential Dumbledore-McGonagall children while traveling. But this time, instead of the free-falling space of her travels, she imagined what it would be like to have the baby here, in this world. Her parents would be furious that she had gotten pregnant without first being married. The baby would probably have to live with them. She could have gone to visit the child on weekends, and eventually the child might have come to live with her. And Albus in this universe would meet the little one...

The record spun to an abrupt end, and the silence pulled Minerva from her thoughts. She had fifth year lesson plans to revise.

/*\/*\/*\

Poppy was thrilled to see Minerva in attendance at the Ravenclaw v. Hufflepuff match the following Saturday. Though not a quidditch fan herself, Poppy made it a point to attend, silently hoping that none of her services would be needed at the end of each match. Besides, it was almost a duty to attend when one's former house was playing. The Mediwitch pulled a musty, old yellow and black scarf for the occasion. Minerva, regardless of who was playing, would be proudly sporting her red and gold scarf and matching mittens. The chill in the first week of December was not to be taken lightly.

Almost reflexively, Poppy did a visual check of her friend to assess the professor's current health. Minerva's cheeks were cherry red from the cold, but her eyes also had a merrily fierce glow that was the unmistakable mark of Professor McGonagall about to enjoy a thoroughly exciting quidditch match. Throughout the game, the mediwitch eyed Minerva as she gave enthusiastic encouragement to the teams. After a particularly spirited roar at the nearly-victorious Ravenclaw chaser, she turned to Poppy.

"I'm convinced that one should have ended up in my house!" She muttered. "I have him in my OWLs class. And while he's smart as they come, he definitely has more of a fighter in him than he lets on."

At this characteristic, reassuring outburst, Poppy chuckled to herself, "I think you're just trying to find a way to tell yourself that Gryffindor _could _have had a chance at winning this year!" Poppy might not have been an avid quidditch follower, but she knew enough to hear other Gryffindor team mates who came into the infirmary grousing about the poor seeker behind her back. Indeed, Evelyn Raynes, the hapless third-year who actually managed to gain the position had spent more time in the infirmary than the rest of the team combined. She seemed to be constantly injured by a combination of clumsiness and stunts pulled by her opponents. Her disgruntled teammates always referenced the fact that she was dating sixth-year team captain Eustace Farnsward as her only reason for being on the team in the first place, let alone gaining the coveted position of seeker.

The quip clearly hit a nerve. "If Eustace hadn't..." Her tirade stopped when she realized other staff members could hear her outburst. Her voice fell back to a whisper. "Well, as Head of House, I have the authority to establish a new team captain next year. Things will be different then, as your poor Hufflepuff team will see. We have all the makings of a perfect team!" And here, she started to ramble off into the exact strengths of this year's poorly managed team.

While Poppy loved Minerva dearly, she usually tuned out her ramblings about quidditch. For Pomfrey, it was enough to know that Minerva was moving beyond the deep depression she had experienced earlier that week. McGonagall's session with Healer Quintas had been a tense one. They now performed physical checkups as part of their Friday meetings. The results had returned nothing new, but did indicate that physical change was taking place in Minerva's body. Healer Quintas was at a loss as to how it would manifest itself. And though the professor had two nights without travels during the past week, she did not have the same joy in reporting it. The poor witch now associated travel-less nights with her progressing physical change, and possible relapse.

But today, Minerva was as hardy and animated as she had ever been. Poppy was oblivious as to the state of the match, and had just heard what sounded like a final declaration in Minerva's rebuttal. She took the opportunity to push the envelope of their recovering friendship.

"Minerva, I know this is somewhat short notice, but I was hoping you'd be able to go Christmas shopping with me tomorrow?" Poppy fidgeted with her scarf while she waited for an answer.

"Poppy, I'd love to. But I have to be at the school, in case Albus has to leave." Minerva did seem genuinely disappointed.

"What if we just went to Hogsmead?" Poppy pressed. She had come this far, and she was not going to give up with trying every possible avenue.

Minerva looked as if she was weighing consequences in her head, "I suppose... I _do_ have to find decent presents for my parents this year, since I'll be there when they open them." Minerva sighed, "They didn't seem to like the books I got them last year. When I was home for the holidays, I found them stuffed in a corner of the library with quite an accumulation of dust..."

"Oh, Minerva!" Poppy batted at her friend's heavily-robbed shoulder, "You can't get people like your parents books for Christmas. Merlin, you might need more shopping help than I!"

/*\/*\/*\

Minerva was suspicious. The first thing to raise her suspicion was Poppy's invitation. Quite a few staff members were aware that Minerva did not have an exceptionally excellent relationship with her family. Staff members who were there during Minerva's time as a student knew that she went home for the holidays only once during her seven years. The Transfiguration Professor guessed that Poppy had worked up this scheme to make her feel better about her enforced holiday. The second flare in suspicion was when easily Albus had consented to Poppy's excursion. Minerva now believed that Albus was in on the scheme to cheer her up. Nevertheless, she met Poppy at the door to the infirmary Sunday, directly after lunch.

Poppy seemed rather distracted during the walk to Hogsmead. The professor also noted that she was fiddling with her long scarf in a rather nervous manner.

"Poppy, is there some other reason you asked me to go shopping today?" Madam Pomfrey had been walking just slightly ahead of her. But at this question, she stopped. And Minerva could see the discomfort in her eyes, "Because... if there is, I can tell you that I am absolutely not interested in pity!" She did her best to use her stern professorial glare on her colleague.

At this declaration, Poppy's face instantly switched to mirth, and she could hardly contain her laughter as she responded, "Pity? Minerva...what in Prospero's name do you think is going on? The past few months had made you a bit paranoid, my dear." She shook her head and continued to stroll toward Hogsmead.

But Minerva did not miss the look of relief that had been the transit from fear to laughter when Poppy was questions. Something was definitely still amiss. But Minerva had the grace to let the issue go until Poppy deemed it necessary to tell her. Merlin knew Minerva did not like to be pressed into deeply personal revelations.

Poppy tactfully convinced MInerva to not buy books as a Christmas present to her parents. Instead, she helped Minerva select a rare bottle of wine from the Three Broomstick's collection.

"Poppy," Minerva sighed, "I must be a terribly unobservant, ungrateful human being if my friend, who has never met my parents, but has been to their home once, knows what gifts they would appreciate better than I." She slid dejectedly into a booth at the Three Broomsticks.

"Oh, Minerva, it's not that bad!" Poppy laid a comforting hand on the one Minerva had placed on the table. "I know you and your parents never really saw eye-to-eye."

"I know what they _really_ want for Christmas." Minerva closed her eyes, and leaned back against the wall of the booth. "Father wants a son-in-law. Mother wants grandchildren. They want me to come home and say that I've given up my dreadful notions of academia and a career."

"Now, Minerva, I don't think that's entirely true." The mediwitch chided. She was not necessarily on the best of terms with her parents either. While they never fought, Poppy was also forced to keep a large part of her love life from them entirely. Their sensibilities could be charitably described as Edwardian, leaving little room for dalliances of the unorthodox kind in which the young Miss Pomfrey indulged. "Your brother's career is academic enough! His work with the Ministry of Finance is revolutionary. And they seemed very pleased with him!"

"Yes, because he deals in 'practical things'." Minerva countered. She did not come on this trip to discuss her relationship with her parents. Her mood was turning more bitter than her gillywater. "And, he's a man. My parents are still convinced that a woman is at her happiest in the home. They think that I will never be happy until I have a man to care for and children to raise."

"Ah…" Her friend returned, "There it is! They want you to be _happy_." Minerva glared at her, not wanting to admit the truth of the statement. "Well?" Pomfrey grinned.

"What?" McGonagall hissed.

"Are you happy?" Poppy cocked an eyebrow.

"I… I suppose somewhat?" Minerva responded, lamely. Poppy leaned forward, clearly demanding an explanation. The professor continued in an exasperated tone, "I love my job. Hogwarts is an exceptionally good fit for me, as a career. I enjoy the company of my colleagues." She gave a begrudging smile to her companion, "But I can't say that that's all I want." Minerva leaned, in as well, "I wouldn't mind having a lover, maybe even children." She laughed, "Clearly, I was willing to do anything to find one. Too bad it was one I could never keep." She leaned back again.

"So you've given up?" Poppy threw back. "You make it sound as if your search for love is finished, never to be pursued again!" She found Minerva's hand again. "Surely you wouldn't be so cowardly?" Oh, how that raised Minerva's ire!

"Cowardly?!" Minerva nearly shouted. Not wishing to draw attention to herself, she continued in a softer voice, "Poppy, I have paid a far dearer price for pursuing love than you can understand. I have risked more to be with the man I love than most people would risk in their entire life." Poppy could think of no response. They finished their drinks in silence, and left the pub.

Madam Pomfrey had one final stop for the day, at Gladrags Wizardwear. She had not explained her reasons for going there, and Minerva was beginning to grow weary of the afternoon.

"Poppy, I think I might need to go back to Hogwarts. I'm feeling a bit tired," She began, but when Poppy turned around, the expression on her face silenced her complaint.

They were in a deserted side street, so Poppy simply stood her ground and, out of nowhere, began to lecture the older witch. "I took risks too, you know." She snapped. "As a matter of fact, I'm taking risks in my love life right now, today, in fact." The young woman took a deep breath. Minerva's face was more confused than she'd seen it in years, "I'm seeing Helena again." Her voice was quiet, and she was looking at the ground. "She's the Healer from St. Mungo's that I…" Poppy began twisting her scarf nervously again. "I ran into her once when I was coming in for a meeting with Elden. She was very contrite, and asked me to dinner." She paused to look at Minerva, whose eyebrows were stretching for her hairline. "I was skeptical too, at first. But I loved her so passionately, Minerva… I couldn't… I found myself saying yes to her, again, and again… And now, well we've been seeing each other again for almost two months." The nervous witch smiled up at her friend. Minerva's face had softened into one of the most caring looks Poppy had ever seen her give. "And I came here today because she's asked me to spend Christmas with her family. And I've gotten most of my presents, but I wanted to get something special for her, for Christmas Eve." And here, the woman desperately hoped Minerva caught her meaning.

"Oh… Poppy!" Minerva actually hugged the smaller witch tightly. "I'm so happy for you!" And Poppy saw that her eyes shone very brightly. Poppy would have said she was crying had Minerva not pulled her closer to whisper, "Of course I'll help you find the kind of 'present' you're looking for!"

"Thank you!" Poppy whispered back, "I didn't know if I could go it alone!"

"So, when do I get to meet this Helena?" Minerva laughed as she pulled her friend into Gladrags.

/*\/*\/*\

Albus had considered long and hard exactly what he should get Minerva for Christmas this year. He traditionally gave the staff small tokens that suited their personalities. Horace was getting a very nice cravat this year, and Professor Kettleburn would receive an especially effective bite-healing salve.

But for his Deputy Headmistress, Dumbledore usually went a bit above and beyond the usual trinket. In fact, he was desperately trying to restrain his effusive excitement over Professor McGonagall's potential present. The Headmaster's tendency toward the sentimental had to be carefully measured now more than ever.

But he believed he had found the perfect gift: a rare recording of an exceptionally talented American Muggle group playing Beethoven's 14th string quartet. The music had just the perfect tone to match Minerva's recent experiences. If anything, he wanted this gift to help speed the healing process. Albus always felt that music had far stronger power than any spell or potion. He tied the final bow around the square package, and set it to rest with the pile of presents for the rest of the staff. It would be opened in two weeks at the Staff Christmas party.

Until then, he would simply have to control his excitement.


	14. Chapter 14

The Transfiguration Professor was blithely happy. The past two and a half weeks had done so much to lift her spirits, it almost didn't matter that the end of the week brought her enforced hiatus from Hogwarts.

This bliss was partly due to the workload of the past two weeks. With end of term papers due and one or two hefty exams to conduct, Professor McGonagall had been extremely busy. Busy was excellent, as it left little time for contemplation.

Even her travels had been conducive to peace of mind. She had only traveled four times over the past couple of weeks. And each of her travels created almost no emotional strain. They were typical scenes of what Minerva had come to regard as her only option for love. If Albus and Minerva were together in so many eventualities, raising children, side by side by a fireplace, or screaming and shouting at each other until their magic exploded around them, Minerva started to doubt there was any other course for her life. Like someone stranded at sea who begins to doubt the existence of dry land, so the professor, despite her decade of studying sciences, began to question the existence of a life without Albus.

Still, she had more pressing things to address. Poppy had agreed to bring Helena over for tea that afternoon, and Minerva still had a rather intimidating pile of sixth year essays. And she still had to check in on Eugenia Marshgail. The poor third year had slightly miscalculated the angle of her wand, and her unsteady hand had changed its mate into an orange. As Transfiguration Professor, it was her duty to send off a small note reassuring the parents as to the quality care and instruction Miss Marshgail was receiving. And she would need to change out of her teaching robes before meeting Poppy's beau.

Deciding that Eugenia's visit could be lumped in with the trip to Madam Pomfrey's quarters, Minerva dove into the essays.

Two hours later saw her in the infirmary, reassuring the young Miss Marshgail. Professor McGonagall had transfigured her hand back instantly, of course, but, seeing the poor girl was clearly too shaken to continue her lessons, had allowed her to spend the afternoon in the care of Madam Pomfrey, regaining her mental balance. As far as McGonagall could recall, this was the worst injury the normally cautious Gryffindor had inflicted on herself. With a few admonitions, and comforting words, the third year dashed off to her common room. Poppy and Minerva proceeded to Poppy's office.

"Helena came a bit early so I could give her a brief tour of my quarters..." Poppy stopped at the door to her quarters. Minerva quietly noted that the mediwitch reddened as she said this. The older witch fought to suppress a smirk. "She's in the sitting room." And both women stepped through the door from the office.

Minerva was greeted by the sight of a witch perched somewhat nervously on the edge of Poppy's cheerily patterned loveseat. On Minerva's entrance, the witch sprang to her feet rather clumsily, nearly knocking over the small table next to the love seat. Poppy was incredibly quick with her spell to steady the table, leading Minerva to believe that this clumsiness was routine.

Moving past this micro-observation, Minerva took in the Healer in front of her as Poppy completed the introductions. The woman was a bit older than Poppy and Minerva, in her later thirties. Minerva seemed to recall vague memories of a Ravenclaw seventh year named Helena. But the pimpled, mousy teenaged witch could not possibly have blossomed into this curvaceous beauty. Though only a little taller than her girlfriend, Helena was gift with a picturesquely contoured body. Her hair was rolled back into a carefully pinned twist, except for a few stray auburn strands that fell to the nape of her neck. But perhaps the most striking thing about her was that she wasn't wearing a dress or even a skirt. Instead, the entrancing Healer wore a pair of high-waisted, pleated pants, with a button-up silk shirt. Both of these items were tailored to perfection around her figure. Minerva found it nearly impossible to contain her double-take at the site of a witch in pants. To be sure, Minerva had worn them on the quidditch team, and on a rare occasion when engaged in other sport. But these pants were clearly not designed for either of those activities, and seemed to be a part of this woman's daily wear.

Noticing Minerva's surprise, the older witch seized the hesitation as a ready topic of conversation.

"Ah, yes, the pants!" Her accent spoke of the pure-blood families of London. Her voice was musical and generous, giving a playful tone to the smile that graced her lips. "Don't worry, darling, everyone questions the pants at first." Minerva took a seat across from Poppy and Helena, and Poppy began to serve the tea.

"I didn't mean to stare, I'm terribly sorry!" Minerva might not have been practiced in the most delicate of social graces, but enough of her mother's etiquette training had taken hold to shame her from staring at people.

"Not at all, dear!" Helena cooed. Minerva could see Poppy smirking as she sipped her tea. "Pants are a very Muggle thing for a woman to wear. But I started wearing them during my internship at a Muggle hospital, and they were so confoundedly comfortable, I couldn't give them up!" The petite woman grinned, leaning back to take a sip of her tea. Minerva filled the silence by nibbling on a biscuit. "I have to go to Savile Row to get them specially tailored. Otherwise, it's hard to find something that perfectly fits my proportions. And I can't even begin to relay the sort of hullabaloo I created by trying to order a pair at Madam Malkin's." Poppy chuckled here along with her girlfriend.

"I see…" Minerva tried desperately to pick up the conversation, "I do remember fondly the freedom of wearing pants when playing quidditch. It was very...unencumbered?"

"Yes! Exactly!" The healer beamed. "Spot on!" And from there on out, the conversation flowed freely. As it happened, Minerva's guess was correct, Helena Nott was from a pureblood family, and they did have a large townhouse in London.

As the afternoon progressed, Minerva quickly realized that Helena was very charismatic. Despite being somewhat clumsy, and very straightforward, the petite healer was utterly charming. More importantly, she noticed that Poppy was absolutely smitten with the woman. From the way she would catch Poppy dreamily gazing at her for no reason, to the occasional hands being held, it was clear that the Hogwarts Matron was still deeply in love with the Healer who had previously broken her heart.

The women grew to be incredibly at ease, even diving into an intense debate about the future of being able to Transfigure effective replacement body parts. A student entering the infirmary interrupted their discussion, causing the women to realize they had spent nearly three hours over tea. Hasty, but heartfeltly cordial goodbyes were exchanged, and plans were set to convene after the holidays.

Minerva left the infirmary at a cheerful clip. She was even humming a Christmas tune to herself. Poppy was so clearly happy with Helena, Minerva fervently wished that things would work out for the two women. Even being the presence of such love and affection filled Minerva with a warmth that lasted through wrapping presents for the staff holiday party, her entire evening at dinner, and as slipped between the sheets and drifted off to sleep.

That night, she traveled to her family manse. It was dark, and echo-filled. She sat down to dinner across from a Scottish man who was evidently head of a ministry department and her husband, but was most certainly not Albus. They retired to what should have been a pleasant evening by the fire, reading together in the cozy library.

Minerva almost resisted when his hand came to rest on her knee. She flinched when he called her "beloved". And worst of all, his kiss was the most foreign, unwelcome romantic advance she had ever received. And while Minerva cringed a bit during their embraces, her husband seemed not to notice.

Finally, after one particularly prolonged kiss, Minerva could stand it no longer and asked her assailant, "Have you seen Albus recently?"

This stopped her husband nuzzling her neck, "Darling, are you feeling all right? Are you feeling feverish again?" His stare was one of devoted concern.

"I... No... I'm fine... Why?" Minerva was a bit defensive. For some reason she couldn't tap into the memories of this Minerva, she couldn't "remember" what had happened in this universe.

"Dearest, you were there when Albus was killed! You were an auror trainee on the same field where Grindelwald killed him! Why would you..." He held her chin and looked into her eyes, "Did something go wrong in the lab today? You should set up an appointment at St. Mungo's. I've been worried about you! You're working yourself far too hard!" He pecked her on the lips, and released her chin. And then Minerva remember in a painful flood of recollection. She had to turn from her husband, who she now knew was named Stewart, to stifle a sob. He placed a comforting hand on her knee.

They retired shortly after this interruption. The two of them climbed into bed, and Stewart rolled over to Minerva's side. He began a valiant effort to seduce her. But, despite his obvious adoration of her, and his tenderness throughout the evening, Minerva thanked every god in the universes when she woke up just after her elbow brushed his erection.

/*\/*\/*\

The staff holiday party proved to be just as festive as Minerva hoped. The punch was heavily spiked, which also did much to brighten the atmosphere. Minerva had discovered after a few nightcaps with Poppy that alcohol had a most undesirable affect on her travels, typically taking her to more violent and unpleasant universes. So until she was recovered, she contented herself with hot cider and butterbeer.

She danced with nearly every male staff member and Poppy several times. The surprisingly at ease Transfiguration professor even danced with a tipsy Headmaster once. Presents were exchanged with her various friends. Everyone was very forthcoming with their sadness at her departure. After the tenth person mentioned that they would miss her over the holiday, Minerva started to suspect Albus had put them up to it. But she smiled benevolently at their wishes for her improved health.

By the end of the night, she had one undelivered present. Steeling herself, she asked Albus if he would care to go to his office to open presents. His response was a bit shocked, but cheerily afirmative. Their stroll to his door was occupied with a humorous recap of the party. It helped to lighten the mood as Minerva's sense of apprehension grew. Indeed, she could feel the urge to bolt rising in her chest. If McGonagall set foot in Albus' office she would cross a line that their strained relationship had studiously avoided.

And yet, when they arrived at his office, and, after locating a reserved bottle of Scotch, Albus suggested they move to his personal quarters, Minerva felt a pleasant flutter in her stomach. They were finally settled in his sitting room, occupying overstuffed chairs opposite each other. Minerva decided a small jibe would be a good start to their conversation:

"You put them up to it, didn't you?" She grinned.

"Whatever do you mean, my dear?" With the twinkle in his eye giving him away, she had to laugh. Oh, how she preferred to have Albus, _any _Albus, call her a pet name.

"You know what I mean, Albus," Minerva parried, "Every person on the Hogwarts staff expressed how much they would miss me over the holidays! Even a few that will be gone themselves." Albus held up his hands, one of which held a partially full whiskey glass.

"Indeed, Minerva! You've caught me!" His auburn hair clashed dreadfully with his bright red and green robes. Minerva inexplicably wished he was wearing any of his other robes. "In my defense, they were going to contrive a much bigger affair. I had to negotiate down to a more subtle show of support. They only want to see you happy."

"Yes, well, my pre-arranged holiday plans make that easier said than done." She turned to gaze into the fire, sighing heavily.

"Oh Minerva, it can't be as bad as all that!" But the Headmaster's face showed that he knew it would, indeed, be that bad.

"Albus," Saying his name was becoming a pleasant habit, "All they do is ask when I plan to get married and give them grandchildren! My brother can galivant all over the globe, but since I'm a woman, my place is in the home. Or, more properly, in the nursery. And after what I've been through, I really can't stand that sort of prodding." Her cheeks colored with her rise in temper.

"Have you ever considered," McGonagall could see that he was fighting a look of pity. "That they just want your happiness? I suspect they would give a great deal to know that you have some small measure of happiness. From what I remember, neither of your parents truly enjoyed academic pursuits. Marriage and children simply mean happiness to them."

"I suppose..." She sighed, "You know, you're the second person to bring that up to me recently?"

"Oh?" Albus smiled benevolently.

"Yes, Poppy mentioned it a few weeks ago."

"Ah, our Matron is another person who has worked very hard to make you happy." He swirled his glass, "She advocated alongside me to keep your departure low-key as they say."

"She is a very good friend." Minerva produced a watery smile.

"Minerva, I too would give a great deal to see you happy." And suddenly, the more persistent glimmer in his eyes took on an entirely new meaning.

Dumbledore was beyond tipsy. A sudden urgency now lit the situation. She had to wrap up this little aside as quickly as possible. The probability of this leading to an intolerable situation had just doubled. After a brief moment of fussing around in her pocket, Minerva pulled out and enlarged a tartan-wrapped package. It was large and rectangular, suspiciously literary in shape. However, a smaller, round parcel perched in the same McGonagall tartan paper. Albus sat in the opposite chair, his thirsty gaze never leaving her face. Minerva had not spoken.

Albus brushed her hand as he accepted the package from her. He saw a nervous, strained smile twitch the corners of Minerva's mouth. Hoping to relieve the tension of the moment, he joked, "it's a good thing you've never tried to be someone's secret admirer. Any gift wrapped in this paper would expose you instantly!" Her smile became more genuine, if little else. Albus had clumsily forgotten that Minerva had in fact had a secret admirer until recently, an admirer secret from everyone else. Inwardly castigating himself for the carelessness of his joke, he tore into the small bundle. The result was a small lemon-shaped tin.

"They're called Sherbet Lemons." Minerva began hesitant, at his puzzled expression, "They're a muggle sweet. I... I've noticed you enjoy Cherry Bombs, but..." Her face began to soften here, "They do make you look like a werewolf who's just had a snack, Albus. Your teeth are red for hours afterward. I thought perhaps... Well, you would enjoy these instead." The young witch seemed to be hiding something surrounding her discomfort with the sweets, and Albus could hazard a fairly solid guess as to the cause. But he merely popped one in his mouth and grinned.

"Delightful!" He responded. And without further pause he opened the second gift. It did prove to be a book, "_Perils of Time Travel: A Comprehensive Look at the Effects on All Involved_. Oh, Minerva..." The Headmaster set the book in his lap and reached for the hand that gripped the overstuffed chair arm.

"It seemed a..." The laugh she let loose carried equal parts hysteria and nervousness. "Suitable reminder of all that has happened this fall. I suppose I was hopeful that someday we will remember this..." She bit her lip and looked away. Albus squeezed the hand tighter, though it remained clamped to the chair. "Remember this year with something other than pain."

"Oh, Minerva, I'm sure that someday, we will." His solemn countenance brightened the tiniest bit. "To that end, I have a present for you as well, my dear." He stood, a bit wobbly, and moved to the small Christmas tree that stood on a side table. Albus pulled a carefully wrapped present, red tied with a silver bow. Returning to their seats, the Headmaster leaned forward as his Deputy opened it.

Minerva's hands were trembling as she pulled back the paper. When the contents were revealed, she gasped, "Is..is this Beethoven's 14th string quartet?" Minerva whispered, her hands still shaking as she held the recording.

Albus' eyes searched her face. "Yes! do you no it?" The woman across from him nodded her head. but she looked as if she had seen a ghost. "Is something wrong?" Tears had silently started to slide down Minerva's face.

"Albus have this recording to me..." She saw his confusion, "The _other _Albus. He said it was his Minerva's favorite." The professor started to angrily wipe at her tears, her words coming quickly and thick with brogue, "Och, I can't go home, Albus! I still break down at least once a day! My parents will notice! They will see something's not right!" She lay the record on the side table back under the tree when she stood to pace. "And what do I tell them when they question me? Tell them I violated every time-travel rule in the book? Tell them I was popping between dimensions to boff an alternate version of my boss? Or should I say that I had a grandchild for them, but it died horribly before it even had a chance to breathe?" Albus could feel Minerva's ire escalating in the energy of the room. "I can't hide this, Albus!"

"Oh, Minerva..." the Headmaster's face was pained, he scrambled for a moment before conjuring and offering her a handkerchief, "I...I..."

"Don't start, Headmaster," She ignored his offering, continuing to pace. This change in tone did not escape him. "You have no idea how my world has changed! Nearly every night since I cheated death, I've been carried, without consent, to an alternate universe. Each time, I'm pressed into another Minerva's body." Albus' eyes widened in shock at this revelation. The tears continued to stream from her eyes, unchecked. "And that's not even..." The professor finally stopped her pacing, took the handkerchief from his hands and took a moment to collect herself. She took a deep breath and continued, "All... Or nearly all, of these travels are into a universe where you and I are...together...in one way or another." Minerva had stopped crying, and was watching Albus carefully. His face became a study in calm stoicism, "I've lived in universes where we were married, where we have divorced, where our relationship is abusive, where you die in my arms, where we have children!" The last word finished with a sob. Still standing, she turned away from him, trying with all her considerable might to bring her emotions back under her control.

Before she could even wipe the tears from her eyes, Albus was next to her. He was still collected, but a small, comforting smile reassured Minerva that he was not repulsed by her story. And instead of pulling her into a potentially unwanted embrace, Dumbledore simply held out his arms.

Unutterbaly grateful for this gesture, Minerva stepped into a hug. It was not an embrace of passion, demands or even romance. This man was simply offering his support and frienship, and it proved to be exactly what Minerva needed.

After a few minutes, Minerva was finally able to suppress her hiccuping sobs. She pulled from his arms and began pacing again.

"But honestly, Albus, what do I tell my parents?" Minerva pressed, "I will probably give myself away at some point, either waking up screaming, or I'll break down at a word! I broke the law, Albus! And worse, I violated your trust!" The poor witch looked stricken.

"I suppose... My dear, it's up to you." The Headmaster folded his hands behind his back and observed Professor McGonagall, "If you feel that you would be uncomfortable with or unable to hide this indefinitely, perhaps straightforward honesty is the best approach?" He noticed that Minerva had frozen in her pacing, and had visibly paled.

"Perhaps..." She mumbled. Abruptly, she seized the record from the chair and swept toward the door. "Excuse me, Albus... I... I need to pack!" She looked at the record, "And thank you for this. Mine hisses horribly." And she was gone, leaving a prevailing unease in her wake.


	15. Chapter 15

Albus was frozen in shock. The formidable wizard managed to maintain his composure the entire time his colleague... no, his friend had spewed her tortures from the past few months. He had even managed to offer her comfort and support. The moment Dumbledore had pictured over and over again had come and gone. But it brought none of the relief the Headmaster had envisioned.

She had come to him, nearly of her own accord (the wizard admitted to planning that she would come back to his rooms to exchange gifts). And when emotionally pressed, the stoic Professor McGonagall had crumbled into the vulnerable, pleading Minerva. Albus had even opened his arms to her in exactly the way he had pictured in his reveries. But now he was simply in shock, with little hope of release from the emotional prison into which Minerva had placed him.

The Headmaster had known little of Minerva's struggles during her recovery. After a few weeks of dealing with his mending colleague, Dumbledore discovered this was much like any other disease. Professor McGonagall was slowly making progress, with a few setbacks and a rare leap forward. But overall, he only knew of her physical recovery, assuming that all emotional damage was in the past, and that her healing in that aspect was as steady as in her physical one.

And when the reconciliation was to be had, Dumbledore assumed that Minerva would cry for the lover she lost, and their sacrificed child. Never once had he dreamed that new, more painful experiences were being piled on each night. And try as he might to restrain himself, Albus was all ready analyzing every little thing Minerva had mentioned about her travels. He admitted to being more than intrigued by the idea of marrying Minerva McGonagall. And Dumbledore had never dared to dream of children. He believed himself too broken a man for fatherhood, yet, somewhere out in the universes, he had taken that step. And Albus was sickened by the idea of abusing Minerva, but in all honesty, he knew he was capable of that. And now, Minerva knew as well. She had seen all the possibilities of Albus Dumbledore's personality, more than he had seen in himself. More than anything, Dumbledore was shocked that Minerva even wanted to be in the same room as him, now that she knew everything of which he was capable. That thought took his breath away.

And for one shining instant, Albus reached the same clarity of conscience achieved by his alternate self. Dumbledore was able to grasp the unadulterated love and passion he could share with this one woman, and the potentially unspeakable beauty of their relationship together. It nearly overwhelmed him. Never in his adult life had Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Order of Merlin First Class, Inventor of the twelve uses for dragon's blood, considered the possibility that he might experience something as powerful, as mind-bending as unconditional love.

As the room came back into focus around him, and his feet came back to the floor, Albus realized Minerva had left her tartan shawl draped over the arms of his chair. Slowly, his mind began to work on a temporal level.

Minerva had left her shawl. It was cold in the hallways of Hogwarts. Minerva needed her shawl. She had looked very ill when she left. In fact, she might very well have been ill when she left! Albus was in no state of mind to notice such a thing. Truthfully, he had no idea how much time had passed between her departure and this moment. He swept up the shawl, and dashed down the stairs to find the hallways completely empty. But the Headmaster was not satisfied, and would continue his search until he found his Deputy.

Not caring how it looked or who might see, Albus Dumbledore ran down the halls of Hogwarts, a tartan shawl bunched in his hand.

/*\/*\/*\

The Transfiguration professor was not at all certain she could make it to the infirmary. To be completely honest, she was not entirely certain where the infirmary was at this point. From the moment she had stepped into Albus Dumbledore's arms, Minerva could feel that she was slowly being pulled into an alternate universe. Even in his embrace, the poor witch could hear strains of the Beethoven record playing. And when Minerva pulled from his arms, she could still feel his warm body pressing around her. Gradually, the familiar nausea, her constant companion in that other universe, had set her stomach to rioting. Minerva had to get out of that room, away from that man. Maybe then her head would clear. Maybe then, she could stay grounded in one timeline forever, sleeping or waking.

But Professor McGonagall's flight from the Headmaster did not ease the pull of the other universe. She could smell the fire in the grate, the lemony sweetness of Albus' breath on her neck. It would be so easy to slip into that world, back into Albus B's arms. Minera was there with him already, leaning against his broad chest. She could feel the vibration of his humming against her shoulder blades. Minerva would be safe there, in that universe; she would never be lonely again.

But Professor McGonagall also knew something was wrong in this universe. Her body was aching and her head was spinning. When Healder Quintas spoke of a relapse, the professor had not counted on anything so violently abrupt. She had not prepared. If she was going to die, Minerva had to at least say something to Poppy, thank her for all her help… and her friendship.

And Albus… Minerva could not leave things this way with this Albus. All of this worry and bother about her, and Minerva knew it was deeper than that. The poor man deserved to know how she felt.

_Yes, I can stay here at least that long._ Minerva mentally pushed away the tickle of Albus' beard on her neck. She fought to stay in universe A, at least… for now. Thank Merlin her navigation and homing skills were still functional. She was at the door to the infirmary now. Once she opened the door, Poopy would be alerted to her presence. Then Minerva could stop fighting, Poppy would do that for her. For once, Minerva McGonagall was not strong enough to defend herself. _How could one ward of an attack of warmth and happiness? _

That puzzling thought proved to be the last thing Minerva's mind processed on this side of the universe as she crossed the threshold of the infirmary and slipped completely into her travels.

/*\/*\/*\

"Sweet Merlin," Helena whispered again as she held an exhausted, weeping Poppy Pomfrey in her arms. Never in her life had the healer heard of such a case as Minerva's, and she prayed to every deity she could name that she never would again.

Sunrise was tiptoeing in through the east-facing windows, giving light to a very sombre scene. All four conscious occupants of the room were exhausted. Healers Quintas and Nott had battled all night with Mediwitch Pomfrey assisting. One by one, Minerva's organs would begin to hemorrhage, and the trio of Healers would fight to keep the witch alive. According to Poppy it was a similar scene to the one seven short weeks ago, when Minerva was fighting Chronos' Curse. They had immediately tried the potion that had originally brought so much relief to Professor McGonagall's collapsing body. It yielded middling results at best. And each time the potion had been administered, it caused a spike in temperature, accompanied by a silver, almost mercurial sweat.

And Minerva had been thrashing about, yelling, during these efforts. This was not the peaceful, compliant coma normally experienced by hemorrhaging patients. Professor McGonagall would yell out for Albus Dumbledore, and thrash about the bed. Of course, the Headmaster, like a chastised puppy, hung about the corners of the room until these moments. Then he would leap into action, grabbing her flailing hand and stroking her silver-sheened forehead. After six hours of this terrible uphill battle, Healer Quintas noticed that Madam Pomfrey was beginning to lose steam. It had been an hour since a new hemorrhage had developed. So he released the two women into their current position.

Poppy was sobbing out of exhaustion, out of frustration, and, more than anything, out of concern for her dear friend. Helena could sympathize with the first two points easily. And while Minerva was not a close friend, Healer Nott couldn't help but feel worried about her. The way Headmaster Dumbledore looked at the dying woman on the bed made his feelings for her quite clear. If Minerva felt even a fraction of what the wizard holding her hand felt, it would be a crime of unspeakable proportions to allow those two souls to be separated. The look on Dumbledore's face spoke of someone living in a waking nightmare.

And with that thought, and the rising of the sickly winter sun, Healer Nott thought of one last thing they could try...


End file.
